Chapter 76: House-Elves
It was understandable, really. For young witches and wizards from pure-blood or half-blood families, their elders would undoubtedly explain everything when they returned home—warnings about the vampire threat and how to stay safe during the holidays.
But for Muggle-born students, no such support awaited them. Their families had no connections in the Ministry of Magic, nor any understanding of current events in the magical world. If they went out alone and happened to encounter vampires, the consequences could be dire.
Never expect the Ministry of Magic to seek justice for a Muggle-born wizard.
After the feast, George and Fred caught up with Phineas, who was on his way to the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor, and invited him to spend part of the summer holidays at the Burrow. The Weasley family was eager to thank Phineas for saving the twins.
Phineas had never denied saving them—even though, in truth, it had been his own actions that had implicated them in the first place. The vampires hadn't intended to harm anyone.
Still, the Weasley family's kindness and loyalty were genuine, and Phineas knew that well.
After thinking it over, he agreed to the invitation.
That night passed quietly—at least, that's what Phineas believed. But the next morning, just before students were to depart for the summer holidays, news spread like wildfire through the castle.
Filch had been targeted in a prank. Some skeptical students went to confirm it for themselves and fled from the reeking smell that filled his office.
But no one sympathized with Filch. In fact, many students openly cheered for the unknown hero behind it. When Phineas caught a whiff of the stench, he immediately knew who was responsible.
George and Fred Weasley—of course. They had used the same trick on him before.
Watching the twins grin from ear to ear, Phineas approached and cleared his throat softly.
"Cover your tracks. Don't get caught."
He whispered the advice to them.
The twins stared at him for a moment in surprise, then lit up in excitement.
"We knew it!"
"You're our perfect—"
"Partner!"
Partner for what? Some sort of Pirate King campaign? Phineas rolled his eyes.
As the twins laughed and students murmured around them, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall approached, holding a stack of parchments.
She gave Filch's office a disgusted glance but made no move to help clean it—though she could have done so with a flick of her wand.
Instead, she raised her voice, announcing that all first-years were required to sign a magical pledge affirming they would obey the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery during the holidays.
As Phineas signed the parchment, he felt a subtle force wrap around him—a vague, intangible presence.
Being from a pure-blood family and well-read, he understood exactly what it was: a trace—contract magic designed to monitor underage wizards. If any magic occurred near a young wizard, the trace would activate, and the Ministry of Magic would be alerted. It allowed the Ministry to judge whether a law had been broken.
The contract's effect would automatically vanish when the witch or wizard came of age.
Once everyone had signed, Professor McGonagall distributed notices and warned the students again: no magic over the holidays.
George stared at the notice and sighed.
Fred shook his head and groaned.
"I really wish they'd forget to send this to us."
To them, not using magic over the summer was a punishment.
Phineas smiled and leaned closer.
"Actually, you don't need to worry. The Ministry doesn't know who casts the spell. The trace just detects magical activity near underage wizards."
George's eyes sparkled.
"So if you're in a wizarding household or surrounded by magic, the trace can't tell who's casting?"
Phineas nodded.
"Exactly. That's why the Ministry turns a blind eye to underage magic in wizarding homes—they can't enforce the law there. For example, my home has several house-elves. They're always using magic. If the Ministry tried to track every bit of spellwork there, they'd go mad."
"House-elves?"
"Whoa!"
The twins nearly shouted in unison.
"Our mum's always wanted one," Fred said. "But we couldn't afford it. All we have is a nasty old ghoul in the attic and a bunch of garden gnomes."
Phineas shrugged.
"House-elves are a race conquered by wizards long ago. After magical contracts and domestication, they became what they are today. The Weasleys have always been kind, and they've maintained close ties to Muggles, so it's normal that your family never inherited any elves."
George nodded.
"Yeah, the Ministry has a House-Elf Relocation Office, but it's all based on money. We'd never qualify."
Phineas nodded in agreement.
"Exactly. The price is steep. I paid a fortune for mine. Actually… two of my elves just had babies recently. Newborn house-elves are perfect for gifting to close friends."
It was true. House-elves were valuable servants. If a family still had elves, it was a sign their lineage remained intact. Elves knew too many family secrets to be casually given away—only newborns were ever gifted or sold.
Once upon a time, a baby house-elf was considered an extraordinary gift, reserved only for the closest of friends.
George and Fred's eyes lit up. A house-elf would make a huge difference in their household.
But in the end, they declined the offer.
The Weasley family may have needed a house-elf, but accepting such a valuable gift from a friend felt wrong. Their friendship mattered more.