Chapter 66: The House-elf and the Portrait
Though Wade had more Galleons in his Gringotts Wizarding Bank treasure vault than enough to buy ten brand-new Broomsticks, he still felt immense joy upon receiving the House-elves’ gifts—and he happily shared with them the candies he’d brought from home. As he stepped out the door, he casually snatched a small pack and stuffed it into his pocket.
“This is Muggle-made,” he explained. “No magic in it, but the scent is rich, and it’s incredibly delicious.”
The House-elves stared, wide-eyed and visibly flustered. After a hesitant pause—though they’d exchanged gifts with Wade before—two of them quickly regained composure and accepted the candy, murmuring heartfelt thanks.
“Would you like breakfast, Wade Gray?” Fell asked respectfully. “The kitchen has mostly finished preparing it by now.”
“Sure,” Wade replied without hesitation.
Fell rummaged through the clutter and pulled out a relatively clean old cushion. Moments later, Zoe and Habi returned from the Room of Requirement, each carrying something: one with a large tray piled high with food, the other holding a massive jar of beverage—Wade’s favorite, orange juice.
The three House-elves knelt on the floor, laid out a cloth, and arranged the food and drink. Wade sat down, and then watched as the elves rose to their feet, still clutching the candies, beaming at him.
A flicker of thought crossed Wade’s mind. He looked up, surprised. “Why are you standing? Sit down—this is our Breakfast Gathering.”
“Sit—sit down?” Zoe stammered, her voice trembling. “We—us?”
“Of course!” Wade mimicked her tone with a warm smile. “Who else would be here?”
The three elves exchanged glances, their expressions even more awestruck than when they’d first received his gifts—sitting down felt like an honor beyond imagination. Yet, they remained frozen, as if bound by invisible chains, their large eyes wide with nervous uncertainty.
Wade softened his tone slightly. “Please, sit. Don’t you want to share breakfast with me?”
“Of course—yes!” Zoe gasped, as if struggling to breathe, then carefully lowered herself beside Wade.
Next came Habi, who mustered more courage, clumsily sitting across from him.
Finally, Fell shuffled forward, wobbling like a reed in the wind. With encouragement from his companions, he finally sank into the corner, his long fingers unconsciously twisting the edge of the tablecloth.
“Well then,” Wade said, looking at the three elves, “Breakfast Gathering begins!”
He picked up a meat pie first, then handed one to each of them, and began eating casually.
Soon, a faint sniffle echoed through the air.
Tears welled up in the House-elves’ enormous eyes, rolling down their faces in heavy drops.
“This is… strange—so strange,” Habi choked, wiping his eyes. “I’m happy—why am I crying?”
Wade said nothing. He gently reached out and stroked the creature’s ugly little head, his touch soft with understanding.
Fell and Zoe, their faces streaked with tears, swallowed their pies in large, desperate bites, as if trying to fill some invisible void.
In the dim, shadowed space among the old furniture, a wizard and three House-elves sat together for the first time, sharing a meal in the flickering interplay of light and dark.
…
Monday at Ravenclaw still began with the less-than-popular Potions class. The Room of Requirement lay on the eighth floor of the castle, while the Potions classroom was deep in the basement. Rather than climb the stairs, Wade opted to fly down on his Broomstick, circling the castle twice before landing in the central courtyard.
The moment his feet touched the ground, his fingers were nearly frozen stiff, his ears and nose red with cold.
Winter, it turned out, was not a season suited for flying—even with a Warmth Charm, the wind howled through the stone halls like a hungry beast.
Thwack!
Suddenly, Habi appeared. He handed Wade his backpack, then eagerly took the Broomstick, gazing at him with adoring reverence.
“I’ll take the Broomstick to your dormitory, Wade Gray!” he announced enthusiastically.
“Thanks for the help, Habi,” Wade smiled.
Habi bowed deeply, his long nose nearly brushing the ground, then vanished with the broom.
Wade had already eaten breakfast, and had intended to head straight to the Potions classroom. But now, shivering from the damp cold beneath the castle, the Great Hall—its fire roaring warmly—suddenly felt like a sanctuary.
He climbed the staircase, passed through the Great Hall, and settled into a seat.
By now, a few grim-faced fifth-years were already at the Long Table, their hair a mess, faces etched with weary resignation. They ate breakfast while reading books—or, more accurately, ate while staring at books so worn they looked ready to crumble.
Wade didn’t dare disturb these overworked third-years. He sat quietly, read a chapter of his Potions notes, and waited until his body warmed before slipping away unnoticed.
“Hey, Wade! Long time no see!”
As he passed through the Great Hall, a familiar voice called out.
“Griffiths?” Wade turned, surprised.
“Yep, it’s me.” The red-haired wizard was sprawled across a tall portrait frame, shoving the original subject into a corner with a smug grin. The original portrait’s face was pinched with silent fury, glaring daggers from behind.
“Missed me?” Griffiths chirped, his voice as lively as ever. “Looks like your holiday’s been delightful, huh? Your face looks a bit rounder… I, on the other hand?” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a bruise on his arm. “See that? Someone attacked me! Just a few years apart, and everyone’s turned so distant—temperaments are all out of whack!”
Oh, really? Wade thought dryly. Or is it just you who’s become unbearable?
He glanced at the poor wizard trapped in the corner and asked, “You weren’t in the corridor earlier? Why are you here?”
“Nope, my portrait’s still in the corridor!” Griffiths waved a finger, grinning. “They said the Great Hall was full, but they never said I couldn’t visit! I’m here to greet an old friend—Dumbledore wouldn’t mind, would he?”
“Hey, kid!” A voice boomed from a nearby painting. The elderly man in the tall hat pointed a bony finger at Wade. “You’re the one who dragged this troublemaker out of the Astronomy Tower, right? For heaven’s sake, take him back!”
“Yeah, send him back!” came a chorus from the other portraits, now suddenly awake. “We finally got him out—why’d you bring him back?”
“He’s unbearable!” another cried. “I’ve lost half my hair already!”
“You’re a portrait,” someone snapped. “You don’t have hair.”
“I’m metaphorically losing hair!” the old man retorted. “It’s figurative, for crying out loud! Can’t you just let it go?”
“Just stating facts,” another muttered. “Why are you so angry? Can’t we just talk?”
“Aaaah! Someone drag this maniac away!”
The usually silent portraits erupted into chaos. Students who’d just started eating stared in shock, gathering around, fascinated.
Wade slipped out quietly. Griffiths, meanwhile, paid no mind to the ruckus he’d caused, strolling through the paintings with reckless ease, even nudging some truly sleeping portraits awake, and followed Wade out of the Great Hall.
“Rough crowd, huh?” Griffiths chuckled. “House-elves are way quieter than these lot.”
Wade paused mid-step, turning to look at him.
(End of Chapter)
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