Hermione, clutching half a piece of bread, was utterly bewildered as Loren dragged her along.
"Loren, where are we going?" she asked, half-running to keep up.
"For the sake of our next seven years here, I must do something great," Loren answered without looking back.
"What great thing?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
"Teach the Hogwarts cooks how to make proper food, of course! Just think of my cooking—think of the food back home. Do you really want to spend seven years eating this stuff every day?"
Hermione imagined her mother's and Mrs. Angus's meals, compared them to Hogwarts' bland fare, and immediately urged him to hurry. Improving the food was urgent—she couldn't survive seven years on slop.
Both Mrs. Angus and Mrs. Granger had learned from Loren, able to make dishes from around the world as well as desserts. Their food was always the highlight of social gatherings. Compared to that, Hogwarts food—though filling—was mediocre at best.
After asking directions from upper years and spotting the occasional Hufflepuff on the way, Loren and Hermione soon arrived near the Hufflepuff common room.
Loren quickly found the painting of a fruit-laden bowl. He showed Hermione how to enter.
He reached for the painted pear, tickling it until it gave a squeaky laugh and transformed into a door handle. The painting swung open into a doorway. Loren turned the handle and led Hermione into the Hogwarts kitchens.
It was exactly as the books described but never shown in the films: a vast room with a ceiling as high as the Great Hall above, lined with gleaming copper pots and pans, with a massive brick fireplace at one end. Four long tables stood inside, mirroring the four House tables above.
Breakfast preparations were in full swing. Over a hundred house-elves, all wearing tea towels embroidered with the Hogwarts crest, bustled about. Dishes appeared on the tables only to vanish moments later—heading up to the feast above.
Their sudden entrance brought the work to a halt. The house-elves crowded around the two first-years, eager to serve.
Startled at first, Hermione shrank behind Loren. But seeing their wide, tennis-ball eyes, bat-like ears, and small, polite figures wrapped in tea towels, she soon realized they meant no harm.
Loren waved most of them back to their tasks, keeping just one behind. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Dobby, sir—oh no! Dotty, sir, Dotty!" the elf stammered happily.
"All right, Dotty. Tell me—do you know how to cook food from other countries, or only British meals? I'd like to taste the difference."
House-elves had always struck Loren deeply when reading Harry Potter: tireless, submissive, punishing themselves if they failed, yet serving with devotion. To him, they were the oppressed. He had no plans to "free" them, but he would at least treat them with respect—never pushing them to self-harm.
"Oh, Dotty only knows what Lady Hufflepuff taught us. Dotty is useless, sir!" the elf whimpered, about to bash her head against the floor.
"Stop! None of that," Loren said quickly. "Instead, I have a task for you."
The word "task" lit her up instantly. She straightened, eyes shining. The other elves slowed their work to listen.
Loren pulled a book from his robes and handed it to her solemnly. "This is a collection of recipes. I want you—and all the elves here—to study them. Learn them. Make food worthy of Lady Hufflepuff's name."
It was only a simple volume, one of his many personal notes.
"Yes, sir! Dotty will study! We will all study!" she said earnestly, clutching the book.
"Good. This is only the first. Prove yourselves, and I'll give you more. For now—see the first recipes? Make two servings. I'll wait here."
He and Hermione sat on a bench. Dotty spread the book on the floor, and the elves crowded around, some so far back they hopped in frustration to see.
With a flick of Loren's finger, the book multiplied into a dozen copies, floating in the air for all to read.
The elves divided the recipes and set to work. Within minutes, a spread of unfamiliar but delicious-smelling food appeared before them.
Loren and Hermione tasted what they liked, sending the rest up to the Great Hall.
The quality impressed even him—the elves' use of magic in cooking gave them precise control of heat and presentation, surpassing even Mrs. Angus and Mrs. Granger.
Satisfied, Loren discreetly pulled more than a hundred cookbooks from his storage space—some written by himself, others collected. "These are yours. Learn them well. Do not fail me."
The elves pushed Dotty forward again. Bowing low, she said, "We will not fail, Master Loren! Call my name anywhere in the castle, and we will come at once."
With a wave, Loren dismissed them and left the kitchen with Hermione. They asked directions along the way—new students unfamiliar with Hogwarts' vastness—and set off for the library.
Halfway there, Hermione tugged his sleeve. "Wait! We haven't fed Crookshanks or the owl yet!"
"The owl is in the owlery under the elves' care. As for Crookshanks… Dotty."
At the snap of his fingers, Dotty appeared instantly.
"Good morning, Master," she said, bowing.
"Hermione's cat needs food. Make sure it's cared for. Tell the elves cleaning Gryffindor Tower to feed it if Hermione forgets."
"Yes, Master." With that, she vanished.
Loren stood thoughtful. "So I'd forgotten—the house-elves' magic. Their Apparition ignores Hogwarts' wards. I must study it."
But for now, he shook it off. "The library first. I'll have time to study them later."
He turned to Hermione, who had been quietly standing guard, keeping others from interrupting him—a habit she had already developed.
The sight warmed him. Without thinking, he took her hand and pulled her into an embrace.
Hermione flushed scarlet, and passing students groaned, clutching their stomachs as if they'd lost their appetite.
Loren let her go with a grin. Hand in hand, they continued toward the library, Loren marveling at how satisfying it was to flaunt their affection so openly.
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