Hermione blinked. "Is he alright?"
"Jury's out," I said as Dobby clutched the welcome mat like it had personally betrayed him. "Come on in, Dobby. Let's talk rules."
She followed us in, arms crossed but intrigued, glancing back at Dobby every few seconds like she couldn't decide if she should offer him tea or a psychological evaluation.
"Alright," I said, ushering him further inside into the sitting room. "Listen closely. You're under new management. Which means rules."
Hermione raised a brow. "You wrote him rules?"
"Improvised them," I shot back with a grin. "That's half my charm."
"Rule one: no self-harm. No punishing yourself unless I say so. Understood?"
Dobby flinched. "But Dobby must punish when—"
"No. You don't."
He nodded slowly.
"Rule two: eat. Three meals a day. If I find out you're skipping, we're having words."
He blinked.
"Rule three: sleep. At least six hours every night. No exceptions."
His lower lip wobbled. "You... care?"
"I care about efficiency," I said, half-smirking. "And alive assistants work better."
I opened a small trunk, pulling out a thick book: "Magical Contracts and the Art of Loopholes: A Beginner's Guide to Surviving Noble Employment."
"Homework. Learn to recognize exploitative clauses."
Dobby took the book like it was a sacred relic.
"Also, starting next week, you'll get a stipend."
He gasped. "Dobby cannot take money from master!"
"You're not. It's a shared resource. If I ask you to pick up something and we don't have it? You use your stipend. That's not charity,it's logistics. While you are at it, you can get yourself whatever you may need using that same stipend. Are we clear?"
He sniffled and nodded slowly.
"You're also buying yourself clothes. Not the kind that frees you—custom tailored. Madam Malkin's finest."
"Clothes? For Dobby?"
"You'll look fantastic."
Dobby's eyes shimmered. "Dobby... will do his best."
"I know you will," I said, turning. "Now go get acquainted with the house. And the warehouse trunk. It's... larger than expected."
Dobby vanished with a quiet pop, reverently hugging the book to his chest.
Hermione spun on me immediately. "Sky, what exactly did you trade to get him? That wasn't just a simple transaction, was it?"
"Technically, it was a favor," I said, stretching out across the nearby couch. "One non-harmful, non-impossible, market-value-matching favor, redeemable only if I allow it and only until the end of the school year."
She stared. "You wrote all of that into a contract? On the spot?"
"Well, I didn't keep parchment in my coat for the aesthetic," I replied.
"And they agreed?"
"Lucius looked like I handed him a Rubik's cube and dared him to solve it blindfolded. Narcissa seemed... impressed."
She blinked again. "You just... bargained for a sentient creature with legal documentation and economic contingencies."
"I also gave him a book," I said, gesturing vaguely. "Loopholes and legalese. Dobby will be a contractual assassin by Christmas."
"That's—actually—kind of brilliant." She paused. "Wait. Do you plan to do this with other creatures too?"
"Only if they request employment and come with transferable moral alignment."
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Wait... what exactly is Dobby? I've never read about creatures like him."
I blinked. "You've seriously never heard of house-elves?"
She shook her head. "They're not in any of the textbooks I've seen."
"Because the wizarding world would rather keep them in the margins," I said, standing and moving to one of the shelves in my room. After a moment, I pulled down a thin volume titled Magical Hierarchies and Enchanted Servitude.
"Here. This chapter explains house-elves in detail—origin, magical function, limitations, and most importantly, the bond system."
Hermione took the book with an expression that suggested equal parts curiosity and brewing outrage. "They're magically bound to serve wizards? That's slavery, Sky. Literal slavery."
"Worse. If they're ever freed—like given clothes without being bonded to someone else—they become fair game to the world. Without purpose or anchor, most free elves fall into magical instability. The world forgets them. Magic forgets them."
She flipped a few pages and gasped. "It says here their deaths are usually blamed on accidents, but there's a theory that fate itself rejects their existence once they're unbound."
"Exactly. That's why the clothes I'm giving Dobby aren't to free him—they're to dignify him. There's a difference."
Hermione looked up, eyes wide. "That's... horrifying."
"And exactly why I gave him a contract, a stipend, and a stack of legal loopholes to chew on. If the world won't defend him, I will."
She was quiet for a long moment, then finally said, "I think you're becoming dangerously good at this." Her voice softened a touch. "And... thank you. For what you did for him. I know you make jokes and spin things like they're just games, but I see the truth underneath it."
She stepped closer, brushing a curl behind her ear. "Most people wouldn't have bothered. Most wouldn't have even noticed."
I met her eyes, and for once, didn't say anything clever. Just nodded. That seemed enough.
"Don't worry," I said with a smile. "I only use my powers for occasionally benevolent chaos." I paused, then added with a smirk, "Careful, Hermione. You're going to ruin my reputation.""
[Scene 4 – Sky's Reflection]
I finally stepped into my room and closed the door with a soft click.
On my wall, threads of parchment still traced elaborate diagrams. The one labeled "Drill Diplomacy" fluttered gently in the breeze from the open window.
"Right," I murmured. "Next stop—the Masons."
I smirked.
"And Hermione. Definitely bringing Hermione."
The game was still unfolding. And now I had an elf on the board.