Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

Poor Dobby, he had been knocked unconscious by the pile of books when Evan rescued him.

“Dobby, Dobby!” Evan crouched down and gently patted Dobby, then found a bottle of healing potion and poured it down his throat.

“Is he alright?” Elaine asked worriedly, craning her neck from behind the desk to watch Evan check on Dobby.

A moment ago, she had impulsively buried Dobby alive under a heap of books; but after calming down, she felt terribly guilty.

Now she just looked frightened, so rattled she didn’t even feel like eating her lollipop.

“He’s fine, just temporarily unconscious. Let him rest here for a while, he’ll recover soon.” Evan tapped the bottom of the bottle with his finger to get the last drop of potion into Dobby’s mouth, then stood up and put away the empty vial. “But you must apologize to Dobby for what you just did, Elaine.”

“I know,” Elaine whispered.

“That was abuse of a house-elf!” said Hermione sternly. “What you did just now was extremely dangerous. If —”

“I know!” Elaine cut in. “I’m sorry, I was wrong. I’ll apologize to Dobby.”

“If you sincerely apologize and are willing to remain quiet, I think Dobby will forgive you,” said Evan, flicking his wand, and the books scattered over the floor stirred and floated back onto the shelves. “Actually, there’s no need to worry too much. House-elves are very strong. Dobby will be fine. I’ve seen him suffer much worse injuries before, caused by his own self-punishment. Just imagine, banging his head against a wall, sticking his fingers under a hot iron, or —”

“Evan!” Hermione called out in displeasure.

“What I’m trying to say is that even so, he always recovered,” said Evan. “House-elves have much stronger regenerative abilities than humans, and Dobby is very healthy, so there’s not much to worry about. But he ran down here in such a rush, he must have had something to tell us.”

“Maybe he wanted to ask what we want for lunch?”

“I think trout would be good.”

“Hmm, I want dragon-blood pudding. Or blood cake, preferably with extra sugar.”

“Fish and chips would be nice too, Dobby knows how to make that.” said Evan, casually pulling out the thick volume of A History of Magic that was closest to him.

After all the chaos, he could finally sit down and read for a bit. The book he took out described the First War between wizards and giants, goblins, and house-elves. The events were so ancient that the accounts were steeped in myth — vague and misty — but Evan thought there might be some clues hidden inside.

After the incident, Elaine behaved very meekly, idly flipping through the copy of The Quibbler Evan had shoved into her hands.

The underground library finally returned to silence, broken only by the rustle of turning pages or the scratch of Hermione’s quill on parchment. Evan had assumed this quiet would last the entire afternoon, but less than ten minutes later, Elaine suddenly jumped up from her seat, waving The Quibbler with great enthusiasm.

“Elaine, what now? You just promised you’d keep quiet!”

“No, it’s this magazine! You two, come look! I found something in here!” Elaine exclaimed excitedly.

“What could you possibly find in The Quibbler? A Crumple-Horned Snorkack or a Heliopath?” Hermione poked her head out of the pile of books again, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

“A Crumple-Horned Snorkack!”

“Oh, that really would be a major discovery.”

Before that, Luna would come by nearly once a month to tell Evan and Hermione about the “various major discoveries” she and her father had made in their search for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack — everything from its footprints to fossils, from horn specimens to pelts, from rumors of its existence to alleged sightings of a living one. They had it all.

Mr. Lovegood had never given up on seeking this fantastical creature from legend, devoting most of his life to proving that the Snorkack truly existed.

At the same time, The Quibbler had maintained a regular column dedicated to articles about the Snorkack for years.

To most witches and wizards, all of this was baseless, absurd, and laughable.

Of course, most of the other articles in the magazine were also in the same style. It was not fair to say that The Quibbler had no selling points at all, though. Besides the reports on fictional creatures or ruins, the magazine also contained many articles questioning those in power. Though most of these were still built on nothing at all, some of the writing was undeniably brilliant, making the magazine quite popular among wizards who opposed the Ministry and the ruling authorities. Especially today, after Voldemort’s return and the fall of the Ministry of Magic, The Quibbler was probably the only publicly available media outlet that dared to speak the truth. That alone was worthy of admiration.

“So what did they find this time? A living Snorkack?”

“No, but the article mentions the home of the house-elves,” said Elaine. “This discovery can make up for my mistake.”

“What?!”

“The house-elves’ homeland. It’s mentioned in the magazine!”

“The Quibbler really mentioned that word? You must be mistaken,” Hermione exclaimed in surprise. “I mean, this is The Quibbler! We all know what kind of magazine it is. How could it possibly mention the house-elves’ homeland? This is unbelievable!”

“It is unbelievable, but it really does mention it,” Elaine insisted. “I checked it using the reading comprehension method Evan taught me, and the house-elves’ homeland mentioned in this report is very likely the place we’ve been looking for.”

“Good job, Elaine! I told you — any book can hide a clue,” Evan leaned forward eagerly. “What does it say?”

“The author of this article says that the Snorkack was once regarded as a guardian beast by ancient house-elves. Before the house-elves became a completely subordinate race of wizards, they had long worshipped and sacrificed to the Snorkack. And traces of this can supposedly be found in the ancient ruins left in the house-elves’ homeland…”

“Hasty conclusions,” said Hermione dismissively. “No one even knows what a Snorkack looks like. For all we know, those ancient house-elves drew some other magical creature — just something more abstract. And who’s to say house-elves even have artistic talent, much less a realistic style?”

“We’re not searching for the Snorkack, Hermione. It doesn’t matter what ancient house-elves drew on stones — the important part is the house-elves’ homeland.” Resting his chin on one hand, Evan thought for a moment. “Anything else, Elaine? What else did the magazine say?”

“Nothing!”

“It didn’t say where the house-elves’ homeland is?”

“No, and it’s only mentioned in this one place.”

“Let me see!” Evan snatched The Quibbler from Elaine’s hands.

To be honest, he had never imagined that this magazine would contain any information about the house-elves’ homeland.