Richie swept his gaze across the sky before concluding,
"A Bludger. It's not on the pitch."
"But a Bludger couldn't..." Hermione began, frowning. "It's enchanted to chase only the players, unless..." Her face brightened slightly, as though she'd just had a brilliant idea. "Unless someone bewitched the Bludger!"
"Good theory. I'll accept that."
"It was Black!" Hermione pressed on.
"Now that's a step too far." Grosvenor shook his head. "Hermione, Black has no reason to harm Harry."
"Richie, but he was here!" Granger insisted stubbornly. "We both saw him. And he was watching Harry. He was probably sizing up the best way to kill him!"
"Hermione, don't jump to conclusions. I agree that the Bludger was tampered with, but who did it remains to be determined. First we make a list of suspects, then we investigate—not immediately declare the only dog we've seen, who may not even be Black, the prime suspect. That's unprofessional, to say the least."
"Er..." Hermione lowered her eyes sheepishly. "Sorry, Richie. I'll try to be more objective. But are we really going to keep watching the match while your friend is suffering?"
"Of course not. To be honest, I don't even like Quidditch. We'll head back to the castle at a leisurely pace and visit Harry."
"Why leisurely?" Hermione asked curiously.
"To give the healer time to treat Harry's injuries," Richard explained calmly. "They wouldn't let us see him any sooner anyway. Besides, a running aristocrat looks ridiculous. And I'm not a clown who's going to give people something to laugh about."
Richard and Hermione truly did walk at a very leisurely pace. To Granger, it felt as though they were crawling along like injured tortoises.
In the Entrance Hall, the boy and girl were met by the stern caretaker. Filch's thin gray hair was slicked back, and a malicious grin twisted his wrinkled face. Pointing a mop at the students, he barked hoarsely,
"Wipe your feet!"
Hermione jumped at the shout and instinctively looked around for somewhere to do exactly that. She immediately spotted a floor cloth spread out by the entrance.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Filch." Unruffled as ever, Grosvenor dutifully scraped his boots across the rag. "Lovely weather..."
"Lovely?!" Filch cried indignantly. "It's a bloody nightmare! They tramp through here, making a mess, and it's this old man who has to clean up after you!"
The caretaker's grumbling left Richard entirely unfazed. He put on a polite smile and continued evenly,
"Forgive me, Mr. Filch, but isn't cleaning the responsibility of the house-elves?"
Filch narrowed his eyes viciously, raised the mop as though to strike, and roared,
"Clear off, the pair of you!"
Richie and Hermione hastily crossed the hall. By the time they reached the enormous double doors, they could hear the caretaker muttering faintly behind them,
"Little know-it-alls... Think they know house-elves do the cleaning... Never occurred to the Headmaster, but they have to stick their noses where they don't belong..."
Once the pair of second-years had put the ill-fated hall well behind them, Hermione asked,
"Richie, you've mentioned elves several times now. Who are they? I've never seen one."
"Aliens from a parallel world," Richard replied as casually as though he were discussing the weather. "Powerful wizards who look like dwarfs with oversized ears, eyes, and noses. They come from the same world as the goblins. Fearing the power of these outsiders, wizards resorted to trickery and enslaved them."
"They're slaves?!" Hermione gasped in horror. "But that's awful!"
"It's both possible and necessary," Richard disagreed. "Wizards are human too. And all humans are deeply xenophobic, even if they hide it from themselves. Elves, goblins, and every other intelligent magical race have only three possible paths. The first is to live as Stone Age primitives and keep out of everyone's way, like centaurs and merpeople. The second is slavery. The third is total genocide. There is no fourth option."
"But, Richie, it's still slavery!" Hermione protested.
"Better to be a living slave than a dead free man."
"But why do wizards have to kill aliens? Richie, why can't they live alongside elves as equals, the way they do with goblins?"
"Goblins are slaves too." Richard calmly shattered Hermione's rose-tinted view of the world. "They simply managed to win themselves the appearance of greater freedom."
"Goblins are slaves?!" Granger's eyes went wide.
"Hermione, how many goblins have you seen strolling freely through Diagon Alley? Never mind London."
Granger knitted her brows thoughtfully.
"Not one," she admitted sadly.
"Hermione, xenophobia is built into human nature. It's part of who we are. Even if you found a hundred thousand intelligent, kind people who genuinely wanted to coexist peacefully with aliens, there would be a hundred million ready to tear dangerous, unpredictable outsiders apart.
"A slave is predictable because they're controlled. A primitive is predictable because they're weak. That's why those two groups are tolerated. A free, intelligent being is inherently dangerous—just like an uncontrolled artificial intelligence. Therefore, in the eyes of most people, it has no right to exist. That's how the majority thinks. That's how most wizards think. Campaigning against the enslavement of house-elves and goblins, or trying to uplift centaurs and merpeople, is like driving the wrong way down a motorway during rush hour."
"Sooner or later you'll get arrested by the police?" Granger ventured tentatively.
"Exactly. Or you'll crash—and quite possibly take someone else with you. Either way, it won't end well."
When Richard and Hermione reached the second floor and turned toward the Hospital Wing, they met the healer hurrying in the opposite direction.
Madam Pomfrey stopped in front of the boy and girl, gave them both a careful once-over, and asked,
"Here to see me? What's the matter?"
"No, no, Madam Pomfrey," Granger rattled off quickly. "How's Harry?"
The healer let out a sigh of relief.
"He's broken both his legs. I've given the boy a dose of Skele-Gro. He'll be back in classes tomorrow morning. Are you here to visit your friend?"
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione replied.
(End of Chapter)
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