"Feed yours, then feed yours, feed yours, then feed yours—"
Dobby stirred vigorously the nutritional powder made from Flobberworm in the bucket, occasionally soothing and patting the temperamental Hippogriffs beside him, "I know what I'm doing. I'm still in control of the situation. I need to stir it well; if I don't, I won't forgive myself..."
The Little Elf muttered continuously under his breath, but his hands showed no signs of slowing down—he was paid, so he had to do his job well!
Dobby's dedication was so outrageous that even William, the capitalist, felt a bit of heartache.
For Dobby, the job William assigned him wasn't difficult; it was just taking care of some small creatures. Compared to back at Malfoy Manor, taking care of the manor's sanitation and a group of people's food and accommodation, being used as eight hundred cleaning staff by himself, and occasionally getting kicked—he's not a masochist after all, it wasn't like he was enjoying himself in that situation...
Soon, a few Hippogriffs finished their dinner, affectionately rubbed Dobby's ears with their faces, and flew off into the depths of the forest.
Of course, it was the forest simulated by the Room of Requirement.
The Forbidden Forest was large and always had some unsociable creatures. Naturally, more of the little ones came running over hearing that William offered food and lodging.
And so, Dobby finished his work for the day and welcomed his leisure time.
He snapped his fingers, returning to the main hall of the Room of Requirement, and brewed himself a warm cup of honeyed red tea with his own cup—this was a life he never even dared to dream of before. Every time at moments like these, he couldn't help but think of the countless... okay, maybe not that many, in short, so many of his kin trapped in deep water and fire...
Who's knocking on the door?
Dobby looked somewhat confused towards the direction of the doorway—although it's called a doorway, there usually isn't a "door" there, which is the wonder of the Room of Requirement; when no sentient being inside the room wanting to leave, the door doesn't appear.
But now, this rule seemed to be broken.
Now, either something unknown had triggered the Room of Requirement's mechanisms, or there was more than just Dobby as a sentient being in the living room—
But unfortunately, Dobby didn't realize that, so after a brief moment of confusion, he set down his teacup and walked towards the door.
"... Pro-Professor McGonagall?"
When Dobby opened the observation window and saw the appearance of the person outside, he instinctively exclaimed.
"Please let me in, Dobby."
Minerva McGonagall stood outside, speaking gently.
"Professor McGonagall, do-do you have an appointment?"
Dobby was a bit nervous, his high-pitched voice starting to stammer—he swallowed, instinctively leaning back slightly. For some reason, Dobby felt that something was odd about the person outside, perhaps the way she spoke, or perhaps her attitude, "Without Mr. William's consent, I can't let you in—"
"No, you can, Dobby."
"No, no, Professor McGonagall, I don't..."
Dobby was stunned, literally, his bulbous eyes paused in their expansion and contraction process. He looked up, gazing into the golden light in the eyes of the person outside, and his expression began to turn blank.
"Listen to me, open the door."
"Alright."
Dobby jumped off the stool, albeit slowly but smoothly opened the door. The next moment, a streak of gold light shot from outside—directly hitting Dobby, whose chest suddenly shimmered with a hint of blue light, and his figure flew backward like an arrow, crashing into a bookshelf and unknown if alive or dead.
"Hmm?"
"Professor McGonagall" walked into the room, frowning slightly at the disappeared Dobby's spot, with a hint of confusion.
"Stop dawdling, hurry up!"
The next moment, from behind the woman, a figure emitting faint golden light even in the darkness stepped forward. If William were here, he would easily recognize Ares, the War God defeated a few days ago—
The one-armed man's gaze swept across the surroundings, frowning deeply at the space which was nothing more than a small, wooden two-story villa inside.
"So shabby..."
"You got your arm chopped off by such a 'shabby' person? Great War God?"
"Professor McGonagall" let out a faint laugh, though the silvery laughter came from the mouth of a centenarian woman—truth be told, it was a bit eerie.
"Shut up, Hecate..."
"Mind your manners, even your father wouldn't dare speak to me like that—"
"..."
"Alright, follow me, let's find your severed arm and hope it wasn't used for soup by that 'shabby' person..."
"Professor McGonagall" didn't seem genuinely annoyed, her stern face vanishing, as she continued towards the Room of Requirement's interior, down some steps. They entered a new room, and they didn't search for long since the arm, detached for two and a half days yet still glowing faintly, lay blatantly on a dais.
"Seems like you're in luck, he hasn't done anything with your arm."
"Indeed."
Ares picked up the arm from the stone pedestal, then unveiled the white cloth covering his shoulder, pressing the severed limb firmly onto his wound. Next, he took out a packet of powdered medicine, delicately sprinkling it around the fracture.
Then, in the next moment, as the powder melded into the skin, the once rigid, cold, and slightly pale arm regained its color.
This scenario was one even the finest Dittany couldn't heal, yet he managed to accomplish it—if Snape were to witness this, it was hard to say if he wouldn't be tempted to switch sides due to this nearly incredible magic potion technique.
"...If you, you could find where that person is?"
Realizing he needed a favor, Ares, retaining a bit of emotional intelligence when not in battle, changed his tone.
"And then, let him chop off your other arm?"
"..."
"Halt your plan, Ares, go back and await my... signal."
Professor McGonagall raised her Magic Wand to restore the destroyed books to their original state while effortlessly extracting the House-Elf from the pile, gently tapping the latter's forehead, and then leading the man out the door, "We're facing a formidable adversary, even more than... anyway, prevent that person from getting too desperate—"
"Even more than what? Can you clarify?"
The two argued, gradually receding into the empty corridor.
Nobody noticed the Ghost standing in the corner at the corridor's end from the start—with the boy he was protecting behind him.
"...What happened?" Tom instinctively asked.
"I don't know." Regulus shook his head, slightly bewildered.