HP & The Goblet of Fire

Charles

The next two days passed without great incident, unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Professor Snape, who seemed to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer, gave Neville detention, and Neville returned from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads.

“You know why Snape’s in such a foul mood, don’t you?” Ron said to Charles as they watched Hermione teaching Neville a Scouring Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails.

“Yeah,” Charles said. “Moody.”

"Why's that?" Bianca asked curiously.

She had started spending a considerable time with them, and when she wasn't with them, she was with Lyra and her friends. Charles could safely say that he liked Bianca, and while he got the sense that Ron didn't like her much, he'd never said anything.

Like now, Ron looked irritated for some reason as Bianca asked the question, but Charles, ignoring his best mate, answered, "Snape has always wanted the Dark Arts job, though he always fails to get it."

"Snape has disliked all of our previous Defence teachers, and shows it well — but he seems strangely wary of Moody," Hermione observed. "Seems to avoid his eye, whether magical or normal."

“I reckon Snape’s a bit scared of him, you know,” Charles mused thoughtfully.

“Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad,” Ron said, his eyes misting over, “and bounced him all around his dungeon...”

The Gryffindor fourth years were looking forward to Moody’s first lesson so much that they arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in time for the lesson.

"Been in the-"

"Library.” Bianca finished her sentence for her, rolling her eyes. Charles grinned; no matter that she'd only known them barely three days, she already was aware of Hermione's obsession with books and libraries. "C’mon, quick, or we won’t get decent seats."

They hurried into four chairs right in front of the teacher’s desk, took out their copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and waited, unusually quiet. Soon they heard Moody’s distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes.

“You can put those away,” he growled, stomping over to his desk and sitting down, “those books. You won’t need them.”

They returned the books to their bags, Ron looking excited.

Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

“Right then,” he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you’ve covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?”

There was a general murmur of assent.

“But you’re behind - very behind - on dealing with curses,” said Moody. “Black teaches them to you in his Dueling lesson, I thought."

"He does, sir," Charles said, "But he doesn't make the lesson much advanced till fifth year."

Moody nodded. "I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark-"

“What, aren’t you staying?” Ron blurted out.

Moody’s magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled - the first time Charles had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as smile. Ron looked deeply relieved.

“You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, eh?” Moody said. “Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago... Yeah, I’m staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore... One year, and then back to my quiet retirement.”

He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

“So - straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I’m supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year. You’re not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore’s got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you’re up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you’ve never seen? A wizard who’s about to put an illegal curse on you isn’t going to tell you what he’s about to do. He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I’m talking.”

Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently, Moody’s magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head.

“Black's gonna be helping me in the next lesson, or some such. So... do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?”

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Charles’, Ron's, and Hermione’s. Moody pointed at Charles, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender.

"They're the Unforgivable Curses... The Imperius Curse is one.”

“Ah, yes,” said Moody appreciatively. “Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.”

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. Charles felt Ron recoil slightly next to him — Ron hated spiders.

Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, “Imperio!”

The spider leaped from Moody’s hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone was laughing — everyone except Moody. “Think it’s funny, do you?” he growled. “You’d like it, would you, if I did it to you?”

The laughter died away almost instantly.

“Total control,” said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. “I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats...”

Ron gave an involuntary shudder.

“Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse,” said Moody, and Charles knew he was talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-powerful. “Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

“Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?”

Hermione’s hand flew into the air again, and so did Lyra's.

“Yes?” said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Hermione.

“There’s one - the Cruciatus Curse,” she said in a small but distinct voice.

Moody was looking very intently at Lyra, this time with both eyes.

“Black's daughter, ain't ya?” he said.

Lyra nodded, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it on the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

“The Cruciatus Curse,” said Moody. “Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea,” he said, pointing his wand at the spider. “Engorgio!”

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody’s desk as possible.

Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, “Crucio!”

At once, the spider’s legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Charles was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently-

“Stop it!” Hermione cried shrilly.

Charles looked around at her. She was looking, not at the spider, but at Lyra, and Charles, following her gaze, saw that Lyra’s hands were clenched upon the desk in front of her, her knuckles white, her eyes wide and horrified. She was shaking.

Moody raised his wand. The spider’s legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

“Reducio,” Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

“Pain,” said Moody softly. “You don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse... That one was very popular once too."

“Right... anyone know any others?”

Charles looked around. From the looks on everyone’s faces, he guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione’s hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air.

“Yes?” said Moody, looking at her.

“Avada Kedavra,” Hermione whispered.

Several people looked uneasily around at her.

“Ah,” said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. “Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra... the Killing Curse.”

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody’s fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Moody raised his wand, and Charles felt a sudden thrill of foreboding.

“Avada Kedavra!” Moody roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air - instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

“Not nice,” he said calmly. “Not pleasant. And there’s no countercurse. There’s no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he’s sitting right in front of me.”

Charles felt his face redden as Moody’s eyes (both of them) looked into his own. He could feel everyone else looking around at him too. He stared at the blank blackboard as though fascinated by it, but not really seeing it at all...

That was how his aunt - Lyra's mother - had died... exactly like that spider. 

Melanie Black's death had been an infamous topic in his family forever. That night had been one of extreme unfortune for their family, and one of celebration for the rest of the world: Wormtail had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to Voldemort, who had come to find them at their cottage. Instead, he had found Sirius and Melanie Black, with their children there. How Voldemort had dueled Sirius first, almost killing him. How Sirius had shouted at his wife to take the kids and run... how Voldemort had advanced on Aunt Mela, told her to move aside so that he could kill Charles... how she had refused to stop shielding the children, had downright refused to beg and cower... and so Voldemort had murdered her, before turning his wand on Charles...

Charles had survived, the curse had rebounded, giving him a scar on his forehead and a mental wound to Sirius. How Lyra, Harry, and Jéricho - who'd been in the same room - had also survived, with Harry developing chest pains when he came near Voldemort, same being the case with Charles' scar.

Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to Charles. With a massive effort, he pulled himself back to the present and listened to what Moody was saying.

“Avada Kedavra’s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it - you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I’d get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn’t matter. I’m not here to teach you how to do it. Now, if there’s no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you’ve got to know. You’ve got to appreciate what the worst is. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation where you’re facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

“Now... those three curses — Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus — are known as the Unforgivable Curses, as Mr. Potter already told us. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what I’ve got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills... copy this down."

Daphne

They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang - but when Moody had dismissed them and they had left the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices — “Did you see it twitch?” “— and when he killed it — just like that!”

They were talking about the lesson, Daphne thought, as though it had been some sort of spectacular show, but he hadn’t found it very entertaining — and nor, it seemed, had Lyra...

Daphne exchanged a concerned look with Blaise. Lyra was walking with them in a sort of trance, staring at nothing with the same horrified, wide-eyed look she had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.

“Lyra?” Daphne said gently.

“Yeah?” Lyra blinked at them, her voice much higher than usual. “Interesting lesson, wasn’t it? I wonder what’s for dinner. I’m starving, aren’t you?”

“Lyra, are you all right?” Blaise asked.

“Oh yes, I’m fine,” Lyra stuttered in the same unnaturally high voice. “Very interesting dinner - I mean lesson - what’s for eating?”

“Neville, what — ?”

But an odd clunking noise sounded behind them, and they turned to see Professor Moody limping toward them. All three of them fell silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he spoke, it was in a much lower and gentler growl than they had yet heard.

“It’s all right, girl,” he said to Lyra. “Why don’t you come with me? To your father's office. Come on... we can have a cup of tea...”

Lyra looked even more frightened at this prospect, but she complied.

“What was that about?” Blaise said, watching Lyra and Moody turn the corner.

“I don’t know,” Daphne said, feeling pensive.

“Some lesson, though, eh?” Blaise said as they set off for the Great Hall. “He really knows his stuff, Moody. When he did Avada Kedavra, the way that spider just died, just snuffed it right-”

But he fell suddenly silent at the look on Daphne’s face and didn’t speak again until they reached the Great Hall, when he said that they ought to start on their homework later.

As Daphne and Blaise walked back to Gryffindor Tower, Daphne who had been thinking of nothing else all through dinner, now raised the subject of the Unforgivable Curses herself.

“Wouldn’t Moody and Dumbledore be in trouble with the Ministry if they knew we’d seen the curses?” she asked as they approached the Fat Lady.

“Yeah, probably,” Blaise shrugged. “But Dumbledore’s always done things his way, hasn’t he, and Moody’s been getting in trouble for years, I reckon. Attacks first and asks questions later — look at his dustbins."

Lyra

Lyra was having a shite day. 

As she sat in her father's office, having tea, she couldn't tear the image of that spider writhing, tortured, out of her mind. Sirius watched her pensively. Moody had left them alone some time ago.

"You okay?" Sirius finally asked in a soft voice.

Lyra nodded. "I... I will be. I'm sorry, dad-"

Sirius put his hand up. "I've told you so many times that it's okay-"

"It's not-"

"It is!" Sirius insisted. "You made a mistake. So what? We all do. I'll ask you this again, Ly, consider the question... would you like me to obliviate your memories of-?"

"No," Lyra denied, just like she always did. "I need to remember. I need to know... I feel like I should. It's a part of me. A reminder of just how cruel this world and its people can be. That there are no limits to just what people can do... what sins they are prepared to commit..."

Sirius sighed. "I know, kiddo. I know."

Harry

Sixth year was proving to be a real challenge.

First of all, Harry hadn't left too many subjects. Second, their breaks were for completing their homework.

It was frustrating, to say the least. And it didn't help that Sirius had suddenly transformed, challenging them too much and giving out assignments and tests... 

The Prowlers all had their main - Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions - classes together. The boys all had Dueling, while Sera had Healing. Then, Harry and Jéricho had Runes with Adrian, who then had Arithmancy alone. Cedric, in the meantime, had Care without them. He and Sera also had Herbology together, while both had left Dueling. 

Harry had stopped playing many pranks after his fourth year, unlike Fred, George, and Lee. He was more occupied with his responsibilities as a Prefect and a Quidditch Captain, along with his Prowlers-escapades and projects. He and Jéricho worked together all the time, anyway, even for pranks and such.

Of course, among everything else, Harry had more things to ponder upon. Like the arrival of Beauxbatons... Celeste hadn't told him anything about that when he'd met her at the World Cup... nonetheless, Harry was excited to meet his girlfriend again.

Yes, girlfriend. At least, sorta... they were in an open relationship. Had been, since a year. Long-distance. But maybe they could solidify it when they met again...? 

The thought left him excited. He was certain that he had a huge crush on her. Even when they'd dated, it hadn't been very serious, but Harry still liked her a lot. And he was sure she did, too. So, why not?

Unfortunately, when he'd mentioned this to his friends... Well, Sera had gotten wierd. Harry always got the sense she didn't like Celeste - why, he could never fathom; they hadn't ever even met, for Melin's sake! - but who was he to try and figure out the utterly bizarre workings of a female's mind?

So, he left it at that and avoided mentioning Celeste altogether in the presence of Sera. Just to prevent the atmosphere from turning tense in any way.

Effie

Effie was having the time of her life. Hogwarts was awesome. 

Of course, she missed her brother Monty; they were both a pair. A duo. But his absence wasn't very noticeable when she was with her friends, which was, mind, the whole time.

Seriously, Effie was never alone. She just had that outgoing type of nature that kept her with someone or the other the whole time. Just like Ginny. 

Her best friend was Astoria, of course, no matter that she was in Slytherin and Effie was a Hufflepuff. People thought that the pair was the strangest ever, but the girls paid no mind to the rumors or snide comments. And Astoria was outgoing and likable as well, with everyone in Slytherin finding her amusing. 

After Astoria, Clary Dew was probably the closest to Effie. A fellow muggle-born Hufflepuff who she shared a dorm with. Clary was a bit shy, quiet type of girl, but she was very easy to talk to. She always listened to any problems anyone may have, and kept their secrets. Maybe that was why, in her own way, Clary was very likable too.

Demelza Robins and Issac Hebra were both half-blood Gryffindors and good friends of Effie, and so was Gary Ives, a quiet and studious muggle-born Ravenclaw. Isaac, in fact, was also very bookish, they all often wondered how he'd gotten into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.

Effie and Demelza both were interested in Quidditch, while Issac and Clary not so much. Gary was a good flier, but for some reason, he'd sworn off Quidditch. Astoria was... well, she was ill. She'd inherited a very serious blood illness from her mother's side of family, which had skipped two generations (her sisters Sera and Daphne) and caught her. 

It was basically a blood illness, which somehow also made her magic weak. That was why, while Astoria was brilliant in theories and had an eidetic memory, she couldn't perform spells that well. And that was why she didn't risk flying, as well, safe on the ground. 

Astoria would live, of course. Her mother was still alive, having taken necessary precautions all her life. She would probably live till fifty or sixty. Not a horrible age... But Astoria hated to be pitied or fussed over. She claimed that she wanted a normal life - or as normal as possible - and absolutely refused to endure any kind of pity. Effie, respecting that, never tried to tell Astoria what to do... they never really mentioned Astoria's illness.

She wasn't a prankster, Effie. Probably because she had a dreadful poker face. She wore her emotions on her sleeve more than anyone else in her family, and she couldn't lie to save her life. She was too kind, too sweet...

Effie's talents lay in Transfiguration and Herbology, like her parents. Oh, and she was horrible at Charms, which was something that appalled Lily to no end. Potions were fine, not excellent but passable. Well, she had to inherit something from her father, didn't she, after inheriting mostly all her looks from Lily? Except for her eyes. She had hazel eyes exactly like James', and her skin was also bronze.

Charles

Staring around the room one night, with Ron and Bianca on either side of him working on their homework, Charles saw Fred and George sitting together against the opposite wall, heads together, quills out, poring over a single piece of parchment. It was most unusual to see Fred and George hidden away in a corner and working silently; they usually liked to be in the thick of things and the noisy center of attention. There was something secretive about the way they were working on the piece of parchment, and Charles was reminded of how they had sat together writing something back at the Burrow. He had thought then that it was another order form for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, but it didn’t look like that this time; if it had been, they would surely have let Lee Jordan in on the joke. He wondered whether it had anything to do with entering the Triwizard Tournament.

As Charles watched, George shook his head at Fred, scratched out something with his quill, and said, in a very quiet voice that nevertheless carried across the almost deserted room, "No - that sounds like we’re accusing him. Got to be careful..."

Then George looked over and saw Charles watching him. Charles grinned and quickly returned to his Arithmancy assignment - he didn’t want George to think he was eavesdropping. Shortly after that, the twins rolled up their parchment, said good night, and went off to bed.

Fred and George had been gone ten minutes or so when the portrait hole opened and Hermione climbed into the common room carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a box whose contents rattled as she walked in the other. Crookshanks arched his back, purring.

“Hello,” she said, “I’ve just finished!”

“So have I!” said Ron triumphantly, throwing down his quill. Hermione sat down, laid the things she was carrying in an empty armchair, and pulled Ron’s Divination predictions toward her.

"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" she said sardonically as Crookshanks curled up in her lap.

"Ah well, at least I’m forewarned,” Ron yawned.

"You seem to be drowning twice,” said Hermione.

“Oh, am I?” said Ron, peering down at his predictions. “I’d better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit obvious you’ve made these up?” said Hermione.

“How dare you!” said Ron, in mock outrage. “I’ve been working like a house elf here!”

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“It’s just an expression,” said Ron hastily.

Charles laid down his quill too, having just finished his own work. “What’s in the box?” he asked, pointing at it.

“Funny you should ask,” said Hermione, with a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed them the contents. Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S.P.E.W.

“‘Spew’?” said Bianca, picking up a badge and looking at it. “What’s this about?”

“Not spew,” said Hermione impatiently. “It’s S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.”

“Never heard of it,” said Ron.

“Well, of course you haven’t,” said Hermione briskly, “I’ve only just started it.”

“Yeah?” Ron asked in mild surprise. “How many members have you got?”

“Well - if you three join - four.” 

“And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying ‘spew,’ do you?” Ron snorted.

“S-P-E-W!” said Hermione hotly. “I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status - but it wouldn’t fit. So that’s the heading of our manifesto.”

She brandished the sheaf of parchment at them. “I’ve been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can’t believe no one’s done anything about it before now.”

“Hermione, open your ears,” Ron said loudly. “They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!”

“Our short-term aims,” said Hermione, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn’t heard a word, “are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they’re shockingly underrepresented.”

“And how do we do all this?” Bianca asked.

“We start by recruiting members,” said Hermione happily. “I thought two Sickles to join - that buys a badge - and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You’re treasurer, Bianca - I’ve got you a collecting tin upstairs - and Charles, you’re secretary, so you might want to write down everything I’m saying now, as a record of our first meeting.”

There was a pause in which Hermione beamed at the three of them, and Charles sat, torn between exasperation at Hermione and amusement at the look on Ron’s face. The silence was broken, not by Ron, who in any case looked as though he was temporarily dumbstruck, but by Harry.

"Hey, Charles, mind if I borrow Hedwig?"

"Oh - uh, yeah, sure," Charles said in surprise, "but why?"

Harry shrugged. "I've got some free time on me - finally - so I thought I'd write Remus. I haven't talked to him in ages."

Charles nodded and Hermione suddenly interrupted, "Harry! Would you like to join SPEW?"

Poor Harry seemed bloody confused. "What is it?"

"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Hermione answered primly. "I've started it. Two sickles for a badge."

Harry was frowning severely. "No, Hermione. It's a house-elf's life we're talking about. They hate to be let go; in fact, most of them die. Giving them clothes and freeing them in a dishonor to them."

"It's slavery-!"

"I suppose," Harry admitted, "But only when the house elf is mistreated, which is not something that happens in most pureblood families."

"They don't get paid - or pensions, or-"

"Only because they want that. If they are severely sick, they are excused. Mostly."

"Dobby-"

"Was an exception. There are weirdos in all kinds of races-"

"-don't call him a weirdo," Charles grumbled. "He's my friend."

Harry rolled his eyes, unapologetic. "I don't mean it as an insult; it's a mere fact. Ask anyone, Charles. You know it, too. I mean, a house-elf who asks for bloody payment?! That's very unacceptable in the wizarding world, not to mention plain strange and even mildly insulting-"

"Why should wizards be insulted?!" Hermione asked, frustration and anger lacing her voice. "If wizards need them to do work, then they should at least have the courtesy-"

"If a wizard requires the services of an elf," Harry said, his voice rising in the same tone as Hermione, "then it is an elf's utmost honor to serve them, without a demand in return-"

"What utter rubbish!" Hermione near-shouted, attracting a lot of attention. 

"You know what, Hermione," Harry said, composing himself. "I'm not going to bother making you understand - it's clear that you can't let go of your muggle philosophy - but just be careful to not offend anyone, okay? Good day to you, and thanks for letting me borrow Hedwig, Charles."

As Harry left, however, Charles was trying to get a handle on his anger. He could see that - while Ron just seemed edgy around Hermione, who looked fit to burst - Bianca also seemed enraged. Harry had been right, of course, but what he'd said at the end... it had made him sound as bigoted as buggering Malfoy! That was just despicable! And callous!

Charles made sure to calm himself down before turning to Hermione determinedly. "Count me in, Hermione."

While he didn't quite agree with the cause, Hermione raised a good point. Even if house-elves worked without payment, they were entitled to respect, which most of the Darker or more bigoted pure-blood families forgot. They should not be mistreated. Oh, and also, Charles was joining to spite Harry. 

"Me too," Bianca nodded, and met his eyes. She gave him a wink; she'd done it for the same reasons as him. 

Ron was looking from Charles to Bianca to Hermione in disbelief as he scoffed. "Fine, fine," he grumbled.

Hermione beamed.