Chapter 89: The Kitchens
Wind slipped in through the stained glass. Shawn sipped the pumpkin juice Justin had produced from Merlin knew where.
A few thin clouds floated in the sky like white flowers in an oil painting. Sunlight on his shoulders made him feel pleasantly warm.
Sleep allows spirits, ghosts, and Doubles to move freely; distance poses no barrier. Even those far apart may establish direct contact, sometimes in the form of a half‑conversation.
That was from Professor McGonagall's notes on the ancient concept of the Double. Understanding it was proving very helpful in thinking about changing the "self" into a living form.
If he could master it deeply enough, perhaps he could learn Animagus transformation, which Intermediate Transfiguration only introduced in passing.
Animagus talent might not be particularly useful day to day, but Shawn still looked forward to the experience.
As for the link between dreams and Doubles, something in him felt on the verge of understanding. In Goblet of Fire, Harry had had a dream: Cho Chang, Cedric, and his Firebolt.
Later, "the dream changed" – and Harry's body became a snake.
That, perhaps, was what the note meant:
Those who do not know they possess a Double explain what they see as a dream. Those who do know understand they have not been dreaming at all, but have sent out their Double.
Harry, Voldemort, and Nagini were all each other's Doubles. That was why Dumbledore had told Harry he had been watching Nagini very closely for a long time.
Magic had been developing for centuries, yet nothing about it was ever simple. Sometimes it was as dense and obscure as a grimoire in an unknown tongue.
Without a guide with the right knowledge, it was nearly impossible for a first‑year student to grasp.
If Professor McGonagall had not given him her own notes, Shawn's only path to these depths would have been to haunt the library and hope for a lucky find.
Just as James and Sirius, once they had mastered Animagus magic, had even managed to teach Peter Pettigrew, proving that in the magical world, apprenticeship and hands‑on guidance remained the most efficient way to learn.
Leaves rattled down outside the window with a dry susurrus. Wind slipped through the cracks and was driven back by the blaze in the hearth.
Shawn noticed Justin having Neville send over a sheet of parchment with the Levitation Charm.
Neville's face was scarlet. He did not dare lose focus for a heartbeat, and only when the parchment settled did he let out a long breath.
A real, quiet joy rose in Mr Longbottom's chest when he heard the delighted voice beside him.
"That was brilliant, Neville!"
"Your left‑hand motion needs to be bigger and smoother – I mean, that is a huge improvement, Neville."
Shawn took the parchment from the very front of the table. In the firelight, the writing seemed to carry its own warmth.
[Oh – Shawn, I have been meaning to ask you for ages.
When can we talk about Chocolate Frog cards again? Or the way the ceiling in the Great Hall keeps changing?
Do you know what the toads in the Potions cabinet make me think of?
They make me think of the Chocolate Frog you helped me catch.
Would you like to see Hogwarts' kitchens?
Just you, me, and Hermione.
All right, Shawn, I know you are very busy. But I want to tell you this: it is not only the strange magic that needs you.
We do too.]
Shawn froze for a moment. Justin and Hermione were both looking his way. Hermione's eyes peeped over the top of her book; Justin was smiling at him, open and sincere.
"House‑elves?!"
On the way from the Great Hall down to the kitchens, Hermione could not hold back a gasp. "Do you mean those beings who can do magic without wands and usually serve old wizarding families in manor houses and the like?"
"Yes," Justin said. Faced with her barrage of questions, he looked just as intrigued. "Hermione, are you that curious about them?"
"Of course."
Hermione dug Hogwarts: A History out of her bag, tapped a paragraph, and showed it to Shawn and Justin.
"It says there is a whole group of house‑elves at Hogwarts, but I have never seen one. Apparently, they usually keep out of the way of the students, so..."
She tilted her nose high. "Are you sure you have actually found them?"
"If… this counts," Justin said.
He scratched the painted green pear with a fingertip. It wriggled, let out a little giggle, and turned into a gleaming golden door handle.
"The Never Go Hungry Club is very pleased to welcome you. So – open the door, Hermione."
Hermione glanced at Shawn and Justin, nerves fluttering in her chest. Justin made a gracious "after you" motion; Shawn gave a quiet nod.
With a creak, the door swung inward.
The first thing that met their eyes was the ceiling. It was not as high as the one above the Great Hall, but the room was just as large. Four long tables, identical to the House tables upstairs, stood in neat rows beneath it. They ensured the elves could send the right dishes up to the right House in an instant.
The enormous hearths roared with constant flames. Huge copper cauldrons, big enough to stew soup for a hundred people each, hung over them.
Most astonishing of all was the magic at work everywhere, all at once.
"Switching Charms, Levitation Charms, and all sorts of food magic. All nonverbal. All wandless. So this is Hogwarts' kitchen," Hermione breathed, eyes shining as her quill wrote furiously on its own.
"'The food that appears in front of you – house‑elves bring it, do they not?' Shawn said softly."
"'Found out, have we?' Justin replied, sounding not at all surprised. "Oh, Shawn, you can ask for whatever you like. They're happy to make it. For some reason, the elves seem to like you, especially."
At that moment, a small, skinny house‑elf came up to Shawn.
It had bat‑like ears, eyes as big and round as tennis balls, and a long, flat nose.
It had clearly been nudged forward – the elf chosen by the others to come and ask what the young wizards wanted.
"Welcome, welcome, Mr Green, sir. Is there anything you would like to eat?" it piped.
Shawn blinked. "Do you… Know me?" he asked.
"Of course, Mr Shawn Green, sir. We have been waiting for you to come," the elf said, fidgeting, in a way that made little sense to Shawn.
"May I know your name?" Shawn asked gently, instead of pushing for an explanation.
"Oh! Oh! That is my honour, sir," the house‑elf said in a tiny voice. Its clothes were a collection of tattered scraps. "My name is Ila, Mr Green."
"Ila? All right. Then may I ask you something, Ila? Why do you know who I am?"
Shawn did not think he had done anything that would catch the notice of house‑elves, any more than he believed he was some great celebrity among the first‑years.