chsdbacks Chapter 446 Mad-Eye Moody
Chapter 446 Mad-Eye Moody
Chapter 446 Mad-Eye Moody
"Oh, the same old thing," Nick shrugged. "Complete destruction, a complete mess. Pots and pans everywhere, the whole kitchen flooded with soup. The house-elves are terrified—"
When beetles.
Hermione suddenly knocked over her gin glass, and pumpkin juice splashed all over the tablecloth, staining it a large, bright orange.
It is several feet long.
"Hogwarts, you have house-elves here too?" she asked incredulously.
"Of course," Nick, who was almost headless, said matter-of-factly, "I don't believe there are as many house-elves in any other house in England as here. There are over a hundred at Hogwarts."
"I haven't seen a single one!" Hermione's expression changed instantly.
"Oh, they rarely leave the kitchen during the day, do they?" Nick replied. "They come out at night to clean up, watch the stove, and stuff—I mean, you shouldn't see them, right? The mark of a good house-elf is that you have no idea they exist, right?"
Hermione continued to stare at him, an expression that involuntarily reminded Harry of someone.
"But do they get paid?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "Do they have holidays? And—do they have sick leave, pensions, anything at all?"
Nick was taken aback by Hermione's question, then he couldn't help but laugh, laughing so hard that his ruffled collar tilted to the side, almost shaking his head off. His head was hanging by only an inch or two of dead skin and muscle, swaying gently like a dangerous swing.
"Sick leave and pensions?" Nick pulled his head back onto his neck and secured it with his collar. "House-elves don't need sick leave or pensions!"
Hermione immediately lowered her head, staring at her almost untouched plate, picked up her knife and fork but didn't continue eating.
The heavy rain continued to pound against the dark, high windows, while the sky outside was illuminated by lightning, and the glass windows rattled loudly with each clap of thunder.
The gloomy clouds on the ceiling churned, a bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating the glittering plate. The last dish on the plate vanished in an instant, then transformed into dessert.
"Syrup fruit tarts, Hermione!" Ron deliberately placed a plate of fragrant tarts in front of Hermione, smiling as he said, "Raisin pudding, look! And chocolate cake too!"
Hermione glared at him, her gaze cold, reminding Ron of Professor McGonagall's sternness.
Immediately, his smile faded, he put down his plate, and silently lowered his head to eat his meal.
As time passed, the dessert plate was completely emptied, the last crumbs vanished in an instant, and the plate became clean and shiny.
At this moment, Dumbledore stood up again, and with his every move, all the talking in the Great Hall stopped, leaving only the howling wind and the pounding rain outside the window.
"Alright!" Dumbledore said with a smile, looking at everyone. "Now that we've all eaten and drunk our fill, ('Oh!' Hermione muttered under her breath.) I must once again draw your attention; I have a few announcements to make."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room, a gentle smile on his face: "First, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, would like me to inform everyone that several new items have been added to the list of prohibited items for use within the castle this year. These are the Screaming Swimming Ball, the Wolf Fang Flying Saucer, and the Combo Boomerang. The entire list comprises approximately 437 items. Those interested can visit Mr. Filch's office to check them out."
As Dumbledore said this, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he had remembered something interesting.
He continued, "Also, as before, I want to remind everyone that the Forbidden Forest remains a restricted area for students, and Hogsmeade Village is a place where students below the third year are prohibited from visiting."
A soft murmur filled the Great Hall, but Dumbledore didn't stop: "However, I have more important news to announce. It is with great regret that I tell you this year—the House Cup Quidditch Tournament will not be held."
"What?" Harry was so surprised he could hardly breathe. He turned around sharply to look at his Quidditch teammates Fred and George.
Both of them stared wide-eyed and mouths agape at Dumbledore, stunned by the news.
Dumbledore nodded slightly, seemingly anticipating this reaction: "This is because a large event will begin in October and continue throughout the school year, taking up a lot of the teachers' time and energy—however, I believe you will all derive immense enjoyment from it." He paused, his smile widening, "I am very pleased to announce that this year at Hogwarts..."
Before Dumbledore could finish speaking, a deafening clap of thunder tore through the air, and the doors of the Great Hall were flung open.
A man appeared at the door, leaning on a long cane and wearing a black travel cloak.
Everyone in the auditorium turned to look, just as a forked bolt of lightning streaked across the ceiling, illuminating the stranger as if it were daytime.
He quickly took off his hood, revealing a head of long, gray hair, and began to walk toward the faculty desk.
"Stare, stare." With every two steps he took, a dull echo reverberated in the auditorium.
The man walked straight to the end of the main seating area, turned right, and limped toward Dumbledore.
Another bolt of lightning flashed, and Hermione couldn't help but gasp.
The lightning illuminated the man's face; she had never seen such a terrifying face.
The face looked as if it had been carved from rotten wood; the sculptor clearly knew nothing about facial structure, and the carving was extremely clumsy. The skin on the face was covered in scars, the mouth was a large, crooked gash, and the nose, which should have been prominent, was flat.
What was most terrifying were the man's eyes—one eye was so small it was almost invisible, a bright black, while the other was unusually large, round like a coin, a vivid blue. That blue eye kept turning without blinking, completely unrelated to the other normal eye.
Finally, with a roll of her blue eyes, she completely lost focus, leaving only a large white eyeball, which sent chills down one's spine.
The man walked up to Dumbledore and stretched out a hand, a hand as scarred as his face.
Dumbledore shook hands with him and exchanged a few words in hushed tones, which were not clearly heard by those below.
He then walked over to Professor Phillips, and the two spoke for a while before the stranger sat down next to Professor Phillips.
After sitting down, the man shook his head, flicked his long, gray hair away from his face, pulled over a plate of sausages, and sniffed them.
He took a small knife out of his pocket, poked it into one end of the sausage, and started eating.
Meanwhile, his normal eye was fixed on the sausage, while his blue eye continued to dart around, scanning the entire auditorium and the students.
"Please allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore cheerfully broke the silence, "Professor Moody."
Normally, everyone would applaud enthusiastically when they met a new teacher, but this time, apart from Dumbledore and Sean, the other teachers and students did not react at all.
Dumbledore and Sean clapped a few times, but the applause echoed lonely in the empty hall, and they soon stopped. Everyone else seemed stunned by Moody's strange appearance, staring intently at him.
"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked in a low voice. "What happened to his face?"
"I don't know either," Ron said softly, his eyes completely captivated by Moody, unable to look away.
Moody was unfazed by the lukewarm reactions around him.
He ignored the pumpkin juice in front of him, instead reaching into his travel cloak, pulling out a bent wine bottle, and taking a large gulp.
As he raised his arm to drink, his cloak, which was trailing on the ground, was pulled up a few inches, revealing a few inches of a wooden prosthetic leg under the table, with a claw-shaped foot underneath.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As I just said," he smiled at the students before him, "we will be hosting a very exciting event in the coming months, an event that hasn't been held for over a century. I am very pleased to announce that the Triwizard Tournament will be held at Hogwarts this year."
"You're kidding me!" Fred shouted.
The tense atmosphere in the Great Hall was instantly broken when Moody entered, and almost everyone burst into laughter, including Dumbledore.
“I’m not joking, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “However, since you’ve brought up jokes, I’ve heard a very funny one, about a troll, a she-devil, and a goblin—all of whom went into the same tavern—.”
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.
"Oh—it's probably not appropriate to talk about this now—not appropriate—." Dumbledore smiled and waved his hand. "Where was I? Ah, right, the Triwizard Tournament—some of you may not know much about this tournament,"
So I hope those students who know the details can forgive me for explaining a little; I allow them a slight distraction.
"The Triwizard Tournament was founded over seven hundred years ago, initially as a friendly competition between the three largest magic schools in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school would select a champion, and the three champions would then compete in three magical events. The Triwizard Tournament was held every five years, with the three schools taking turns hosting. It was widely considered an excellent way for young wizards from different countries to build friendships—but later, due to the high number of deaths, the Triwizard Tournament had to be discontinued."
"The death toll?" Ron asked in a low voice, looking around in alarm.
"For centuries, there have been several attempts to revive this tournament," Dumbledore continued, "but each time without success. However, the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Sports of the Ministry of Magic believe that now is the perfect time to try again. This summer, we have undertaken extensive preparations to ensure that every champion is safe from danger."
"In October, Headmasters Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will lead their carefully selected contenders to Hogwarts for the selection of champions. The ceremony will take place on Halloween Eve. At that time, an impartial referee will choose the students most qualified to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, vying for the Triwizard Cup and winning honor for their respective schools. The most outstanding champion will also receive a prize of one thousand Galleons—"
As Moody listened to Dumbledore's words, he lowered his head and stirred the sausage. Suddenly, he raised his head slightly and looked at Dumbledore, as if he had sensed some kind of signal.
He then turned to Sean, who was sitting next to him.
Sean noticed Moody's gaze, leaned slightly forward, and asked in a low voice, "Moody, how are you feeling?"
Moody was silent for a moment, his blue eyes still scanning every corner of the Great Hall, while his normal eye was fixed on the sausage in front of him. After a while, he finally said in a low voice, "The Triwizard Tournament is one of the most dangerous tournaments in Hogwarts history, especially now, with the wizarding world in turmoil and the recent riots. This tournament may be more complicated than we expect."
Sean frowned and asked cooperatively, "Do you think someone will try to sabotage the match?"
"Who knows?" Moody sneered, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips. "However, if there really are people who don't want the tournament to take place, I wouldn't mind seeing what they're capable of. As long as we're all careful and stay alert."
Watching Moody, or rather, Barty Crouch Jr.'s acting, Sean silently gave him a thumbs up in his mind.
Multiple incidents have proven that, for the British Ministry of Magic and the Cabinet, it is not feasible to arrest oneself.
Meanwhile, Hermione finally snapped out of her reverie about the Triwizard Tournament and turned her attention back to the house-elves.
"Have you ever thought about how pitiful house-elves are?"
"They work so hard for wizarding families, doing heavy housework, and don't even get a shred of respect or compensation. It's so unfair!"
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, completely baffled as to why Hermione was so agitated.
"Hermione, are you saying they shouldn't be working?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Hermione shook her head. "It's not that they shouldn't work, but that they deserve better treatment! I've read some research on house-elves, and many of them, while happy to work for wizards, don't do so voluntarily. They're forced into this life, without even a choice."
"But don't they enjoy these jobs too?" Petil suddenly interjected.
Hermione frowned, then answered quite bluntly, "That's because they've been brainwashed into believing that's their responsibility! They're instilled with these ideas from childhood, told that their existence is solely to serve wizards. But this system is fundamentally wrong! How can we treat life as a tool to be exploited?"
Harry listened quietly, and after thinking for a while, he tentatively asked, "But Hermione, what do you want them to do? Like humans, give them wages, holidays, and benefits?"
Hermione paused slightly, seemingly stumped by the question. She lowered her head to think for a moment, then replied, "At the very least, we should give them more choices and freedom, instead of leaving their fate entirely to wizards. They should also have the right to do what they want."
And not just being forced to do things.
Ron scoffed. "That sounds ideal, but the problem is, house-elves are part of Hogwarts, and even a tradition in many wizarding families. Changing those perceptions could take a very long time."
Hermione's eyes were filled with determination as she gripped the knife handle on the table.
At this moment—as if fighting for her beliefs—she said, "I know it's difficult, but we can't ignore this problem. We need to let more people see its injustice and change it." She looked up at Harry and Ron and said in a deep voice, "I just hope you understand that house-elves should also be respected."
Ron frowned, seemingly considering Hermione's words. "I understand what you mean, Hermione, but this is a real problem for me. Many wizarding households rely on these little elves."
This is indeed a difficult problem—how can these wizards keep their homes the same if house-elves don't exist?
A thought flashed through Hermione's mind unconsciously:
Find Professor Phillips.
Only he could understand her point of view, resolve her doubts, and provide her with some more practical solutions.
When faced with a problem, seeking help from Professor Phillips seems to have become a conditioned reflex for Hermione.
This dependence became even more pronounced after she became aware of the "special relationship" between herself and Professor Phillips.
However, when her gaze fell on Sean, she couldn't help but stop.
Sean was getting up from his seat, and Professor Tonks was holding his arm. The two were talking in hushed tones, looking relaxed and happy.
They walked slowly toward the entrance of the Great Hall, their demeanor exuding an indescribable aura. This scene not only caught Hermione's attention but also caused a great stir in the Great Hall.