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A lot happened on the night of Christmas Day.
First, Hagrid had dinner with everyone in the Castle's Great Hall for the first time, and Robert received a special gift because of it.
Secondly, the Castle was exceptionally lively that night. It was said that someone had broken into the Restricted Section of the library, and bone-chilling screams echoed from there for the latter half of the night.
Filch searched the Castle frantically for the culprit, but after a night of prowling, he didn't see a single soul, as if the person had never existed. Even the ever-present ghosts in the Castle had no clue.
By the next day, the incident had become a popular topic among the ghosts to pass the time.
Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar, and Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore of the Headless Hunt gathered around a plate of rancid, moldy cheese pudding, guessing who the mysterious intruder might be.
After all, evading Filch wasn't impressive. But escaping the notice of ghosts and portraits? That was extraordinary.
"It must be those two from your house with the surname Weasley. They often break rules and might've found some secret passage no one else knows about," Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore said, passing his head through the cheese as if that counted as eating.
Nick watched him with envy. Sir Patrick could take his head off completely—something Nick had been jealous of for centuries.
Upon hearing his words, Nick's eyes lit up.
"It's definitely not the Weasley brothers," he said. "Patrick, want to know why? If you agree to let me join the Headless Hunt, I'll tell you."
"I have plenty of time to find out the truth, Nick," Sir Patrick said, adjusting the angle of his head and smiling. "Besides, I've said it many times—the Headless Hunt only accepts ghosts whose heads are completely detached from their bodies."
"Don't be like that," Nick pleaded. "My neck was hacked forty-five times! It's just half an inch from coming off. I dream of joining the Hunt."
"I must correct you, Nick. Ghosts don't dream!"
"…"
The casual chat ended in frustration, with both Nearly Headless Nick and Sir Patrick leaving in a huff. The Fat Friar remained seated, unsurprised. He'd expected this outcome.
They were always like this—arguing over that half-inch—and they never seemed to tire of it. The ghosts were long used to their endless squabbles.
But from their brief conversation, the Fat Friar picked up a new clue.
First, the most likely suspects—the Weasley twins—could be ruled out. Nick seemed certain, and as Gryffindor's house ghost, his words carried weight.
However, according to the Fat Lady's portrait, someone had passed by her the previous night. Gryffindor's involvement still seemed likely.
Furthermore, Nick had once mentioned that the lights in a Gryffindor dormitory had stayed on until the early hours, with strange noises occasionally echoing from within. It was unclear if that had anything to do with the incident.
The next night, the ghosts decided to stake out the library, assuming the mysterious intruder would return.
Filch had the same idea.
But the night passed uneventfully. No one appeared, and the library was completely silent.
Then came the third night.
That evening brought some progress. Someone did show up on the second floor—it was Headmaster Dumbledore, and something large floated beside him. It looked like a mirror or wooden panel, covered in velvet so that nothing beneath could be seen.
Filch was incredibly disappointed. Of course, he didn't dare question or detain the Headmaster, so he could only walk away, shoulders slumped in defeat.
For the rest of the Christmas holidays, no one approached the second-floor library again. The Castle returned to its normal rhythm. Everything seemed to go back to the way it was before.
But not quite.
Fred and George Weasley noticed something strange—someone seemed to be missing.
Robert hadn't been seen for days—not on the grounds, not at the Quidditch pitch, not even in the common room. It was as if he'd vanished.
Or perhaps he had sneaked out of Hogwarts through some hidden passage.
Fortunately, George eventually noticed that Robert still appeared in the Great Hall for about ten minutes each evening. That ruled out the possibility of him leaving school.
One evening, Fred and George timed it just right and finally cornered Robert as he rushed toward the Great Hall entrance.
"It's really hard to find you lately!"
"Quick—tell us, what have you been up to, sneaking around like this?"
They flanked Robert, one on either side. Just as Fred was about to probe further, he noticed the dark circles under Robert's eyes and his pale, dry lips.
"Merlin's beard!" Fred exclaimed, dropping his curiosity at once. He and George quickly helped Robert into the Great Hall.
After eating five slices of toast, three sausages, a whole roasted chicken, two sandwiches, and downing a large bottle of pumpkin juice, Robert finally started to look a little better.
Though the dark circles remained, at least his color had returned.
"What on earth is wrong with you?" George asked. "You look like you haven't eaten in days."
"Not like... I actually haven't eaten all day," Robert replied.
"Did Hogwarts ban you from the Great Hall during the day?" Fred asked, puzzled.
"No, that's not it." Robert shook his head. "I've been doing homework. I get too engrossed and forget the time."
"You should save that kind of excuse for Quirrell," Fred said with a snort. "Maybe he'll be so moved he'll give Gryffindor two points."
"And you could only fool Quirrell," George added, "because no one else wraps their head in a ridiculous turban."
"Alright, fine," Robert admitted. "Actually... I've been making a wand."
"Great, now we can add Filch to the conversation," Fred said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't think we know nothing, do you?"
"'Wandmaking and Usage Guide'—it's in the school library," George added. "We checked it. Even counting prep time, making a wand shouldn't take more than an hour."
"You wouldn't need longer than that, would you?"
"If it were a normal wand... maybe ten minutes," Robert said after thinking about it.
"Exactly," Fred leaned in. "You say you're making a wand, but you've been holed up in the dorm for days. Isn't that a bit fishy?"
Robert scratched his head. He was actually telling the truth this time.
He hadn't just been in the dorm all day—he'd barely left it in ten days. Since Christmas, he'd been wrestling with this wand.
It was incredibly difficult. Although the Troll's spine he used had shrunk to around two feet, its density hadn't changed.
For Robert, embedding it completely into the wand's core and inscribing every rune precisely was a double challenge—both technically and physically exhausting.
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