Eighth floor, Hogwarts Castle.
Richie walked up to the stone gargoyle, only to suddenly realize he had no idea what the password was.
But before he could say a word, the gargoyle silently scraped aside, revealing the hidden passageway behind it.
"Hey, you're actually conscious, aren't you?" Richie stepped closer, eyeing the stone statue up and down with genuine curiosity.
The gargoyle remained perfectly still, looking like an ordinary chunk of rock.
Richie shrugged, gave up, and stepped into the passageway.
The exact second Richie disappeared from sight, the gargoyle immediately slid back into place. Its stone lips twitched as it muttered indignantly, "The way he was staring at me, I thought he was going to dissect me! What a cheeky little brat!"
Richie rode the spiral stone staircase up and stepped into the Headmaster's office.
The room was as busy and eccentric as ever. Right away, Richie spotted Professor Dumbledore sitting at his desk, accompanied by an older gentleman.
"Ah, Ravenclaw's Seven-Pointed Star. Come in, come in," Dumbledore called out warmly, waving him over like a kindly grandfather.
Richie stepped up to the desk and offered a polite nod. "Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore."
"Have a seat." Dumbledore casually flicked his hand. A small trinket on his desk floated to the floor and seamlessly transfigured into a comfortable armchair.
Used to this level of casual, high-tier magic, Richie simply sat down.
Once he was settled, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling. "I saw your exam paper. Seven 'Outstanding's. There are very few young wizards at Hogwarts who manage to master that material quite so perfectly."
Hearing that, the older wizard turned to look at Richie with clear curiosity.
Richie offered a polite, humble smile in response to the praise. Noticing the older man's gaze, he turned to look at him.
"Oh, allow me to introduce you," Dumbledore smiled. "This is Newt Scamander."
Richie immediately put the pieces together. Ah. So this is the famous 'Freckles.' "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Harland." Newt extended a hand. "I wanted to personally thank you again for your kind assistance."
"It was nothing, Mr. Scamander. Happy to help," Richie replied, reaching out to shake his hand formally.
But as they shook hands, Newt's nose subtly twitched. A flash of pure astonishment crossed his eyes. He stared at Richie, clearly picking up on something.
"You..."
Newt seemed like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself, opting instead to give Richie a deeply meaningful look.
Richie just blinked back, completely clueless. (He hadn't realized he was still carrying the scent of a freshly hatched Norwegian Ridgeback).
"Well, since this is essentially a pen-pal meetup, how about some snacks?" Dumbledore clapped his hands together, entirely ignoring Newt's bizarre reaction.
A second later, a house-elf holding a tray of pastries materialized in the office.
"Mody?" Newt said, his voice full of surprise.
Mody's hands trembled as he set the tray on the desk. He slowly looked up, his massive, tennis-ball eyes brimming with tears. He nervously twisted the hem of his makeshift clothes.
"O-oh... Mody finally gets to see his beloved Freckles again..." Mody squeaked. "Mody... Mody specifically baked the biscuits Freckles always loved..."
Newt stood up, walked around the desk, crouched down, and gently pulled the house-elf into a hug.
"I am so incredibly sorry, Mody," Newt whispered. "Everything happened so fast back then. Please forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye."
"WAAAH!" Mody completely lost it, bursting into heavy, sobbing wails.
Richie pressed his lips together, watching the genuinely touching reunion between two old friends.
Just then, Dumbledore slid a slice of cake across the desk toward him. "Perhaps we should give them a minute."
Richie nodded and took the cake.
It took Dumbledore polishing off an entire slice of cake, two Fizzing Whizzbees, and three Lemon Sherbets before Newt and Mody finally collected themselves and returned to the desk.
"Dumbledore, exactly as we discussed earlier," Newt said. "I'd like to take Mody with me back to Dorset."
Newt was currently living a quiet, secluded life in a valley in Dorset, England.
"Well, if that is your wish, the final decision lies with Mr. Mody," Dumbledore said, smiling gently at the house-elf. "Would you like to go, Mr. Mody?"
"Oh... the great wizard called Mody... a 'Mister'?" Mody gasped, looking entirely overwhelmed. "The kind and powerful wizard actually respects a lowly house-elf like Mody..."
"Mody must answer the great wizard's question properly. Mody... Mody misses his adorable Freckles very, very much..."
"But... but..." Mody scrubbed the tears off his face with his ragged collar, stammering for a long moment before finally shaking his head. "Mody... Mody doesn't want to leave Hogwarts! Mody is, and always will be, a Hogwarts house-elf!"
With a loud CRACK, Mody Apparated out of the office.
"Ah. It seems I was too forward," Newt sighed, staring at the empty spot where Mody had just been. He gave a self-deprecating smile. "I was really hoping I could poach him from Hogwarts. What a shame..."
Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid there isn't much we can do. The magical contracts the Founders forged with them have essentially become mental shackles. It binds them to absolute loyalty."
"Even if I formally promised to dissolve the contract, they would fiercely refuse. And if I offered them actual wages, they would treat it like a deadly plague and run in terror."
Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh. "Sometimes, I genuinely wonder if we are protecting them, or simply enslaving them."
Newt sighed in agreement.
Dumbledore then turned his piercing blue eyes toward Richie. "Little Richie, you likely don't know the history behind this. Allow me to explain."
Richie sat up slightly, fully attentive.
"During the era of the four Founders, the world was in utter chaos. The Muggle world was infested with witch-hunters, actively tracking down and slaughtering wizards and magical creatures alike."
"Desperate to survive, a group of house-elves fled to Hogwarts."
"Helga Hufflepuff—one of the Founders—gave them a choice. They could accept a magical contract that guaranteed them eternal protection, but in exchange, they had to swear absolute, undying loyalty to Hogwarts. Or, they could reject the contract and face the witch-hunters' swords on their own."
"Obviously, the house-elves chose the contract."
Dumbledore paused, letting the history sink in, before suddenly asking a question.
"If you were Helga Hufflepuff, holding the quill to forge that contract today... what choice would you give them?"
Faced with the sudden, heavy test, Richie didn't panic. He sat quietly for a moment, analyzing the prompt, before giving his answer.
"I wouldn't rewrite the core of the contract. I would add an amendment."
"Since house-elves view standard wages as a humiliating insult, we should implement a 'Merit Point' system."
"It's essentially a performance-based evaluation. Instead of working for absolutely nothing, they earn points for their labor."
"Those who do exceptional work earn points. Those who slack off lose points and accept a penalty. The points can then be exchanged for small items—new clothes, shoes, or even little toys—to boost morale and motivation."
"We explicitly frame it so it's not a wage or a salary. We call it a 'Reward.' A formal recognition of their loyalty from Hogwarts itself."
Hearing Richie's breakdown, Dumbledore nodded in deep, genuine admiration. "If we did that, their quality of life would likely improve drastically."
Richie's answer seemed simple, but it showcased a profound level of emotional intelligence and pragmatism. It was the wisdom of standing on the shoulders of giants.
Wizards were still wizards; self-interest always came first.
Richie didn't naively suggest abolishing the contract or breaking the loyalty clause. He fundamentally acknowledged that the house-elves had to pay a price for Hogwarts' ultimate protection. But by introducing a "merit system," he proved his capacity for real empathy and strategic reform.
Not naive, but deeply compassionate. A very good kid.
Dumbledore thought to himself, a warm smile spreading across his face.