"They would," Eira said coldly. "You push too hard, too fast, you force these old families to confront the fact that their servants know every secret of their homes, every weakness in their vaults, every crime they hide. Do you truly believe they would risk that? No, Hermione. They would slaughter them by the hundreds. They would call it necessary. And you—your precious society—you would have become the spark for a massacre."
Hermione stared at her, horrified, struggling to form words. "That… that can't be…"
"It is," Eira said, her voice gentler now. "The wizarding world is not your Muggle politics. Here, power is older, sharper, and merciless. You saw it this morning. Even the kindest wizards laughed at you. Not because they are all cruel, but because they know change is not so simple."
Hermione bit her lip, eyes glistening. "But it's still wrong."
"Yes," Eira said quietly. "It is wrong. But change requires patience. And influence. You have neither. You are a fourteen-year-old student mocked in your own common room. You cannot change the world yet."
Hermione bristled. "And you? You do have influence! You could—"
"I could burn myself alive on that pyre, yes," Eira cut in. "And what then? The governors would turn against me. The Ministry would laugh at my naivety. Do you know what happens to reformers who rush? They vanish. Their names are forgotten, and the cruelty they opposed continues twice as strong."
Hermione's breath caught. For a moment, she looked on the verge of tears, but she swallowed them back, standing taller. "Then what? You're just saying give up? Do nothing?"
Eira's lips curved faintly. "No. I am saying work wisely. Slowly. With care. You want to help elves? Then start by knowing them. Speak to them. Learn what they want, not what you think they want. Do they crave wages? Do they crave freedom? Or do they crave something else entirely? Have you even asked?"
Hermione faltered. "I… I've been to the kitchens once. I saw them. They seemed… happy. But that's not real—it can't be. They've been conditioned to believe they want to serve."
"Perhaps," Eira said softly. "Or perhaps not. You cannot know until you listen. Go back. Speak to them. See how they live. If you wish to fight for them, you must understand them first."
Hermione pressed her lips together, torn between her indignation and the weight of Eira's logic. "But… you said before, about families treating them differently. What did you mean?"
Eira's gaze softened, turning distant. "I grew up with a house-elf," she said quietly. "Not as a servant, not as property, but as family. I had no mother, no father. She told me stories when I couldn't sleep. She sang when I cried. She calmed me when I raged. To me, she was a mother. To her, I was her child."
Hermione's eyes widened, her voice hushed. "You mean… she loved you? Like family?"
Eira nodded slowly. "Yes. I still remember her joy when I praised her, her delight in the smallest compliment. She was not chained. She was… love, in its simplest form. Not every family abuses them. Some treasure them as guardians, as kin."
Hermione's throat tightened. "That's… I've never heard anyone speak like that about an elf."
"Because most do not care to," Eira said softly. "But you must understand—if you storm into this fight blind, you may hurt those you wish to save. Imagine: you succeed. The elves are freed overnight. And then? Hundreds, perhaps thousands, unemployed. Cast out. Families refusing to pay. Some elves slaughtered for knowing too much. Others starving because they cannot adapt. And their blood, Hermione, would be on your hands."
Hermione shook her head furiously, tears threatening. "That's not fair! They deserve better—they all do! Even if it takes time, even if it's hard—someone has to try!"
Eira placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, her voice steady. "Then be that someone. But be wise. Change is a long game, not a morning speech. First, you must grow. Gain respect. Gain influence. Become someone they cannot mock away. Until then, learn and Listen,Prepare for what you will do in the future."
Hermione stared up at her, her determination flickering against the weight of Eira's words. At last, she whispered, "You really think… it's impossible now?"
"Not impossible," Eira said. "Just not yet. Not by you, not like this."
They walked in silence for a while, the castle looming behind them, the lake shimmering faintly in the distance. Finally, Eira spoke again.
"Go to the kitchens, Hermione. Speak to the elves. Ask them what they want. Then you will know whether your fight is righteous—or misguided. If you truly wish to help them, start there."
Hermione nodded slowly, her hands gripping her satchel tight. "I will. I promise."
Eira gave her a faint smile. "Good. And when you are older, when your voice cannot be laughed away—then perhaps you will change the world."