Robert didn't expect Harry to seriously run up to Madam Pince and propose the idea of temporarily staying in the library.
Of course, that was clearly impossible. Madam Pince rejected the suggestion without a second thought and even advised Harry to go to the school hospital.
After all, no remotely sane person would willingly trade a comfortable dormitory for a hard wooden chair in the library.
Harry looked quite helpless. If Colin hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor and could be lurking in the common room at any time, he wouldn't even consider staying in the library.
"If it really doesn't work, go find Hagrid," Robert suggested. "Exaggerate your situation a bit—maybe he'll agree to set up a bed for you in his hut."
"Forget it, I was just joking," Harry replied, shaking his head. The truth was, pretending to be a werewolf was exhausting. Malfoy's constant ridicule didn't help either. That's why, after running into Colin, he'd impulsively gone to Madam Pince and blurted out something like, "Can I live in the library?"
"I really wish Lockhart could teach me how to deal with admirers," Harry half-joked. "It'd be great if he could help Colin drop the idea of taking a photo of me every single day."
"Then you clearly don't understand Lockhart at all," Robert said. "He'd be overjoyed if someone wanted to take his picture every day. Lockhart spends at least five hours replying to fan mail."
"Every day?" Harry's voice rose in disbelief. "Five hours?"
"At least five," Robert affirmed. "That's what he claims anyway."
At that moment, Harry truly felt a flicker of admiration for Lockhart. Spending five hours writing letters every day sounded maddening. Thinking about it like that, Colin—who merely liked to greet him and ask for photos—didn't seem so unbearable anymore.
Even playing the monster didn't seem that bad anymore… well, if Hermione could use a different spell, that would be ideal. Harry was starting to feel like his robes were losing their color.
"Harry! There you are."
Hermione came running toward him from a distance, clearly anxious. As soon as she saw him, her words tumbled out:
"Ron told me you were feeling upset… I'm sorry, Harry—are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said.
"That's good," Hermione replied softly. "I'm really sorry. I got too excited and didn't think it through. I assumed those spells wouldn't hurt you."
"Of course not. A Cleaning Spell isn't going to injure me," Harry said with a smile. "Thanks to you, I won't need to do laundry for a few days."
Seeing that he could still joke, Hermione visibly relaxed.
Soon Ron arrived, and the three of them headed to the Great Hall for dinner together. Harry was lucky this time—he didn't run into either Lockhart or Colin.
The next day, Saturday, Robert originally intended to join Harry and the others in visiting Hagrid. However, the moment he heard three distinct dog barks from a distance, he abandoned that idea immediately.
Because there were three different barks. Unless Fang had developed a talent for mimicking multiple pitch ranges, it could only mean one thing: one dog had three heads.
"Um… you guys go ahead. I just remembered I have something else to do," Robert said quickly, turning and walking back toward the Castle without waiting for a response.
Last time Fluffy had chased him, maybe it was due to some lingering dark magic—but then again, maybe the creature just genuinely didn't like him. Best to save the visit to Hagrid for another day.
Robert returned to the Castle and headed to his favorite place—the library. He stayed there from morning to noon, grabbed a quick bite to eat, then returned and continued reading into the afternoon. Once he had compiled a list of the things he couldn't understand, he went to see Professor McGonagall.
By the time he left her office, it was already dark outside.
Excellent. Another fulfilling day.
Robert stretched and made his way toward the Great Hall. On his way there, he spotted the dejected Gryffindor ghost floating aimlessly in the corridor and decided to offer some comfort.
"Nick, I don't think it's your fault. The Headless Hunt just has an unreasonably rigid standard of aesthetics."
From the look on Nearly Headless Nick's face, Robert didn't need to guess—he'd been rejected by the Headless Hunt again. It happened every year and had practically become a tradition at Hogwarts.
"You also think there's no difference between me and them, don't you?" Nick said, getting worked up. "Just because of less than half an inch of skin and cartilage holding me on, they've rejected me forty-nine times!"
Robert suspected it was more than forty-nine. The Headless Hunt had likely been around for centuries, and given Nick's long-standing bitterness, it was probably a much older feud.
Maybe Nick only remembered forty-nine rejections.
Robert reached out and patted his arm—it felt like plunging his hand into ice water.
"Don't give up. I believe you'll get in one day."
"Thanks. I'll take your word for it," said Nick. "Oh, by the way, I just saw some Gryffindor students fighting down by the Black Lake. Do you want to go check it out...? Oh no, now I remember—I was supposed to find Minerva! The students will be in trouble if Severus shows up first… Damn Patrick Delaney for handing me the letter just now!"
With that, Nick dove headfirst into the wall and vanished.
Robert, realizing the situation, immediately ran downstairs.
Just as he reached the second floor, a silver tabby cat leapt lightly onto the railing next to him, then sprang down to the first floor and vanished in an instant.
It was obviously Professor McGonagall's Animagus form. Robert had just been outside her office with Nick, and as a ghost, Nick could've easily located her.
Still, being an Animagus certainly had its perks. McGonagall, in cat form, practically used the floors as steps, moving at incredible speed.
When Robert finally reached the Castle doors, he immediately saw the scene by the Black Lake.
Two groups were facing off. Snape stood out most—his face was ashen, and he looked ready to explode. Malfoy stood beside him, slouched and pale.
Crabbe and Goyle stood further off, one clutching his head, the other holding his arm, both groaning.
Facing them were Harry, Ron, and Hermione—along with Professor McGonagall, who had just arrived.
She transformed back into her human form and quickly strode over.
"Can someone tell me what happened here?"
"It was him, Professor!" Ron's face was flushed red, pointing at Malfoy. "He called Hermione… he called her a…"
"Mudblood," Hermione said calmly. "I don't know what it means, but I could tell it was very rude."
"It's more than rude," Ron fumed. "It's the worst insult he could have come up with."
"Mudblood…" At the word, Professor McGonagall's expression turned icy, her eyes narrowing at Malfoy.
Just then—
"Blech!"
Malfoy's shoulders twitched again, and several large, slimy slugs splattered to the ground, accompanied by either mucus or saliva.
Whatever McGonagall had been about to say stuck in her throat. She glanced instead at Crabbe and Goyle, who looked battered. It wasn't clear if the damage was from spells or fists.
It must've been magic, McGonagall reasoned. The physical size difference between the groups made it unlikely otherwise.
As for her own students, they appeared unharmed—aside from some dirt on Ron's robes.
"Gryffindor loses thirty points," Professor McGonagall declared. "And the three of you will serve detention."
"But Professor, Malfoy started it!" Ron protested, still fuming.
"Slytherin loses ten points," she continued sharply. "Mr. Malfoy, I hope you understand that certain words have no place in this school. They reflect a wizard's most basic manners."
"Blech… mmph…" Malfoy tried to respond but was interrupted by another wave of slugs.
Professor McGonagall ignored him and turned to Snape, clearly waiting for his input.
"I will oversee their detention," Snape said stiffly.
"Of course," McGonagall replied.
"I hope… you all… remember today's lesson," Snape added with a drawn-out glare. Then he turned and stalked away.
"Wait, Professor!" Crabbe called out. "Draco—he's still spitting slugs…"
"I see him, Mr. Crabbe," Snape said coldly. "Don't worry. It will stop naturally once he's finished vomiting."
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