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HRA# CHAPTER 123
🕑 Added 2025-05-09 18:08:53 +0000 UTCAlfred was an exceptionally unique house-elf.
What made him so unique was that, despite being born into a slave-like environment, with every instinct in his blood and everything around him telling him to be loyal to his master, to serve them to the best of his ability even at the cost of his life, Alfred resisted those instincts.
Or rather, he possessed an extraordinarily rare ability that most house-elves lacked: the capacity for independent thought, the ability to step outside his role and think for himself.
He yearned for a different kind of life—not the mundane, subservient existence of a house-elf, but one where he could stand as an equal to wizards, earning a wage for his hard work.
That was all he wanted.
But even this modest ambition made Alfred an outcast among his kind. In the circles of house-elves serving wizarding noble families, he was the least welcome.
This was precisely why Harry suddenly asked Alfred such a question.
Because Alfred was... too free.
Even when bound by the master-servant contract with the Malfoy family, Alfred would rather punish himself afterward than fail to protect Harry—even when Harry explicitly refused such protection. Alfred persisted, steadfast in doing what he believed was right.
Resolute in will, decisive in action, even now, after signing an employment contract with Harry, Harry never felt that contract restrained Alfred in any way.
“Master Harry doubts Alfred!!” Far cleverer than most would imagine, Alfred’s eyes widened as he squeaked loudly, “Alfred has disappointed Master Harry! Bad Alfred! Bad Alfred!!”
As he shouted, Alfred repeatedly slammed his head against the corner of a nearby cabinet with such force that Harry had to physically lift him up and order him to stop hurting himself before the exaggerated behavior ceased.
“It’s not doubt, Alfred,” Harry said patiently, setting the now-calmer house-elf back on the ground. “The world is vast, and everyone has their own thoughts. It’s perfectly normal for two people to have different opinions—but even if they walk different paths, it doesn’t mean either of them is bad. Do you understand?”
Alfred had much to learn about being his own person.
“Different... opinions?” Alfred repeated, eyes wide, mulling over Harry’s words carefully.
“Yes,” Harry nodded, continuing, “You’re my hired steward, Alfred, not my slave. That means you’re free to choose a job you love whenever you want. It’s your right.”
“Alfred loves being with Master Harry,” Alfred declared without hesitation. “This is the job Alfred loves.”
“Thank you,” Harry said with a wry smile. “But as I’ve said, the Harry Potter you once knew was an illusion. Now you’ve seen the real me. If you have any thoughts, you can—”
“Master Harry is Harry Potter!” Alfred interrupted for the first time, his voice unwavering with conviction. “Not just the hero who saved the wizarding world! But the hero who gave Alfred freedom! Past, present, or future, Alfred believes in Master Harry!!”
“—And Master Harry is different, isn’t he?” A sly grin, one Harry could scarcely believe would appear on Alfred’s face, spread across it. “When Alfred was still Dobby, Alfred wanted to protect Master Harry. Alfred disobeyed Lucius’s orders and snuck into a place he wasn’t allowed to go.”
Alfred let out a burst of joyful laughter.
“And when Alfred got there, he saw Master Harry teaching Lucius a lesson! Master Harry didn’t need Alfred’s protection at all!” Growing more excited, Alfred waved his arms animatedly. “Master Harry even saved Alfred from the wicked Malfoy family and gave Alfred the most precious gift of all—freedom!! Merlin’s beard! He’s truly a great man!”
“So that’s how you see it,” Harry said, suddenly understanding.
No wonder Alfred always acted as though he were unaware of the tensions between Harry and the Malfoys.
“Yes! That’s exactly what Alfred thinks!” Alfred said earnestly. “So please, Master Harry, don’t say such things again! Whatever Master Harry does, he must have his reasons! Alfred trusts Master Harry!”
Shaking his head, Harry realized there was little more to say since Alfred felt so strongly.
And so, the boy and the house-elf spent the next two or three days bustling about. Harry packed away items left by his parents and things from his own childhood into the basement, while memorabilia were sent to the collection room.
There was no such thing as an item Harry couldn’t find a use for. When faced with unknown objects unique to ancient wizarding families, Harry sought wisdom from his father... or, failing that, from his grandfather.
This was the way of the shaman.
In the end, when everything settled, the restoration and organization of the old Potter estate were complete. Even the weeds in the garden and the goblins squatting there had been cleared out.
Though the garden looked a bit barren now, it was only temporary. Once Harry decided how to arrange it, it would bloom beautifully again.
For now, Harry was hosting a guest in his home.
Still dressed in the same ostentatious style from their first meeting—looking as though she’d bedazzle even her fingernails if she could—Rita Skeeter sat across from Harry once more, her enchanted quill poised to scribble mischief.
“Thank you so much for coming, Ms. Rita—may I call you that?” Harry asked, setting a cup of tea before the journalist, maintaining the same shy demeanor from their last encounter.
“Of course, Harry, you absolutely can,” Rita Skeeter replied, her eyes scanning the interior of the Potter estate. “It seems you’ve reclaimed the Potter family inheritance.”
“Yes, and I couldn’t have done it without your help, Ms. Rita,” Harry said earnestly, appearing nervous.
With stiff, awkward movements, Harry pulled a small pouch from his pocket and, even more nervously, placed it in front of Rita. She could even see the sweat on his palms as he withdrew his hand.
“What’s this?” Rita asked, raising an eyebrow, though she already knew. The metallic clink of coins hitting the table screamed Galleons—and a fair amount of them.
It was clumsy, terribly clumsy—but considering this was a young boy, Rita let it slide, her mood growing even brighter.
“It’s my thanks, Ms. Rita,” Harry said with a pure, innocent smile. “I heard from the Ministry employee who delivered the deed that it was your article that finally made them take my request seriously and return the deed so quickly. Honestly, I thought there was no hope, especially since there was no news for days.”
“Well, er, you see, Harry,” Rita’s smile stiffened briefly before returning to normal. She gave a forced chuckle. “The Daily Prophet is the largest newspaper in the British wizarding world. Everything published must go through a certain... review process to ensure its accuracy.”
Harry was certain Rita had gritted her teeth when she said “review.”
And indeed, she had. The memory of her brilliant, inspired article—already slated for the next day’s front page—being yanked at the last minute by the editor-in-chief still made Rita want to hex Cornelius Fudge into oblivion.
“Let’s not dwell on that, Harry,” Rita said, exhaling deeply to change the subject. “You’ve moved in much faster than I expected. Honestly, I visited the Potter estate once before, and it looked completely different from what it is now.”
Her expression turned skeptical.
“Oh, that’s because Headmaster Dumbledore helped me,” Harry said naturally. “He restored this old house and even sent a house-elf from Hogwarts to help clean it up.”
Before he finished speaking, Harry noticed Rita’s quill darting across her parchment again. He had no desire to glance at it; he knew that blasted auto-quill never wrote anything good.
Probably slandering Dumbledore again. Reading it would just waste brain space.
“I see,” Rita said, relaxing after Harry’s explanation.
It made sense. Dumbledore doing favors for his golden boy to win his loyalty? Perfectly logical.
“Anyway, please take the money, Ms. Rita,” Harry said with a shy smile. “I feel like if I don’t thank those who’ve helped me, even my parents wouldn’t be happy.”
“...Alright, Harry, I think you’re right,” Rita said with a shrug, though she’d never intended to refuse. She picked up the pouch, weighed it with satisfaction, and tucked it into her crocodile-skin handbag. “So, about this request you mentioned?”
What had drawn Rita here wasn’t Harry’s gratitude—his letter hadn’t mentioned that. Instead, he’d written about another problem he couldn’t solve. Truth be told, Rita rather enjoyed these “unsolvable” issues Harry brought to her.
Take this time, for instance. A story about the Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world from twelve years ago, had sent the Daily Prophet flying off the shelves. They’d had to print extra copies to meet the demand.
The buzz was unprecedented. On the day Fudge was bombarded with owl droppings, Rita received stacks of thank-you letters praising her courage for reporting Harry’s plight and urging her to keep going.
Those letters solidified her status as the top journalist in the British wizarding world, cementing her reputation as the reporter who dared to speak the truth.
So when Harry mentioned a new request, Rita wasn’t annoyed—she was thrilled, practically itching to dig in. She secretly hoped Harry would stumble into more troubles or injustices, giving her an endless stream of headlines.
As she’d concluded before, Harry Potter was a treasure trove that never ran dry.
Best of all, she was making extra money in the process. Dumbledore’s golden boy was truly golden now.
In Rita Skeeter’s eyes, taking the money was only fair—and everything she did was for the boy’s benefit.
She gained fame and fortune, and this poor boy gained even greater fame. What was wrong with that?
Plenty of people would kill for such an opportunity.
With eager anticipation, Rita fixed her gaze on Harry, her quill twitching.
And Harry didn’t disappoint.
“I want to sue the Ministry, Ms. Rita,” Harry said, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket. His opening line sent a shiver of excitement through Rita’s entire body.
“Sue the Ministry? Are you serious?!” Losing her initial composure, Rita’s voice trembled with excitement.
“Absolutely!” Harry’s voice grew louder, his face flushed with apparent anger. “I can’t stand this injustice! Ms. Rita, please, read this letter and see if the Ministry’s talking nonsense!”
“Injustice? What did the Ministry say?” Rita’s curiosity was piqued. She quickly unfolded the parchment and skimmed its contents.
“This is... a warning letter for an underage wizard using magic outside of school?” Rita raised an eyebrow. “If I recall, you’re only in your first year. That’s bold—wait, Apparition??”
“The Ministry’s lost it?! Apparition, haha, are they serious?!” Rita held the parchment up to her face, incredulous, double-checking the text as if she might have misread it.
But no matter how many times she looked, the words didn’t change. It was real.
And yet, it was absurd.
To anyone in the wizarding world, this letter was laughably ridiculous. A first-year wizard Apparating? Hilarious.
It was the kind of joke that wasn’t even funny when said in jest. But coming from the Ministry, its absurdity was magnified tenfold.
“Right, Ms. Rita! You see it too, don’t you?” Harry’s face reddened, seemingly with fury, as he stood up from his chair. “I don’t even know what that spell is! Like you said, I’m just a first-year! Why would the Ministry send me a letter like this?!”
“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right, Harry,” Rita said, even more excited than he was. She grabbed his hand, pulling him back to the table. “Sit down, please. I need you to tell me everything about this, from the very beginning. Even start with what you did when you woke up that day—it doesn’t matter, just be detailed.”
Like a leopard spotting prey, Rita Skeeter’s eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger. Her instincts had kicked in—her killer instincts.
“I have a feeling, Harry,” Rita said, trembling with excitement. “We’re about to break a story that’ll shake the wizarding world to its core!!”
“Er, actually, I just want the Ministry to retract the warning,” Harry said, calming down a bit and scratching his head. “The letter sounds pretty serious, and I don’t know if I might accidentally use magic outside school someday. But if I do, I’d lose one chance compared to everyone else... That’s not fair, is it?”
“I don’t want to be expelled from Hogwarts. And, well, having my wand snapped and never being able to use magic again? I’d rather die.”
Harry seemed like a simple boy worried about being punished for something he didn’t do, concerned only about expulsion.
But that was fine. Rita would take care of the rest.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Rita said in an unprecedentedly gentle tone, comforting him. Honestly, she didn’t think she’d ever been this soft, even with her tearful nephew.
“I promise you, the Ministry’s ‘big shots’ will retract that letter and drop their accusations,” Rita said, gripping her quill tightly. “You won’t have your wand snapped, and you won’t be expelled from Hogwarts—no one wants that, right? Just tell me everything that happened that day in detail.”
“You’re hurting me, ma’am.”
At Harry’s words, Rita recoiled as if shocked. In her excitement, she’d left several visible nail marks on his hand, faintly white.
“Sorry, I just got a bit... indignant on your behalf,” she said.
“Er, alright,” Harry said, scratching his head before launching into the story. “This happened when I was still living at Number 4 Privet Drive, about two weeks ago.”
“...That day, I just wanted to go to the park near my aunt’s house to hang out. But as I was passing through an alley, all of a sudden, a black owl dropped this letter into my hands...”
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
Comments
ZaChan
"Even the weeds in the garden and the goblins squatting there had been cleared out." 😆 Goblins are bankers, they work at Gringotts Bank over in Diagon alley. It's the Gnomes that hang out in gardens and that need to be frequently cleared out, Haha.
