"Why can't I borrow them!"
In the library, Robert looked at Madam Pince and asked, "It seems there's no rule saying you can't borrow fifty books at once."
"I can add that rule now," said Madam Pince coldly, tapping lightly on the borrowing register with her finger.
The two had been in a standoff for ten minutes. No matter what Robert said, Madam Pince refused to let him borrow fifty books at once.
"Professor McGonagall asked me to borrow these," Robert said, pulling out a parchment with a list of book titles, trying to reason with her.
Madam Pince glanced at it. To her surprise, the handwriting was indeed Minerva McGonagall's.
But why would Minerva let a student borrow fifty books? Could he even read them all?
"I can allow you to borrow a maximum of five books at a time," she said reluctantly.
"Professor McGonagall's face is only worth two books?" Robert looked stunned.
"Are you borrowing them or not?" Madam Pince made a motion to take back the borrowing register.
"I'll borrow them!" Robert said quickly. Madam Pince was too stubborn; it seemed he'd just have to make multiple trips.
"However, I have one request," Robert added after a moment. "If I return books before borrowing again, they shouldn't count toward the five-book limit."
"Alright," Madam Pince agreed, but with her own conditions: the returned books must be undamaged, and the number of re-borrowed books shouldn't be excessive.
Once they reached an agreement, Madam Pince went to fetch the books listed on the parchment.
Robert leaned against the counter, waiting.
Just then, a familiar face came into view.
Draco Malfoy entered in a hurry, holding two books. It looked like he was returning them.
How incredible. Would Malfoy actually come to the library to borrow books?
At the same time, Draco also saw Robert. He immediately tensed up, and a flicker of wariness flashed through his eyes.
Was it that serious?
Robert hadn't expected such a strong reaction. Judging by Draco's behavior back at Flourish and Blotts, he shouldn't have understood the implications of Robert's words.
Had Lucius Malfoy told him about the family history?
Before Robert could dwell on it further, Draco approached him.
"Hello, Robert. I think we had some misunderstandings before," Draco said, reaching out his hand. The wariness in his eyes had vanished.
"There were indeed some misunderstandings," Robert replied, no longer pretending not to see him. They shook hands briefly.
"Just to be clear, I didn't lay a hand on anyone at Flourish and Blotts."
"What?" Draco recalled the scene, and his expression immediately tightened. "Of course, I know. It was all those stupid Weasleys—relying on their numbers, a bunch of shameless scoundrels."
Clearly, he was still bitter about what happened that day.
There were too many Weasleys, plus Potter, making it five against two. Draco had taken a beating—something he'd never experienced before.
Now that Robert brought it up again, Draco naturally had nothing good to say. His insults grew fouler, and his emotions more agitated.
"Weasley and Potter—I'll make them pay!"
"Quiet!" Madam Pince appeared suddenly, cutting off Draco's declaration.
"No shouting in the library. If you can't manage it, get out!" she snapped, placing five books in front of Robert.
"These are the books you wanted."
"Thank you, Madam Pince," Robert said. He cast one last glance at Draco, shrugged, and left the library with the books.
Dinner that night was onion stew, which tasted average—worse than the garlic stew at the Leaky Cauldron—but the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students still ate it with relish.
Meanwhile, Gryffindor and Slytherin were once again at each other's throats.
As soon as Robert entered the Great Hall, he saw Pansy Parkinson and Parvati Patil in a heated confrontation in the aisle, hurling curses and insults.
"Lockhart's class is absolutely terrible! I really don't understand why you find it interesting... Is Gryffindor's brain different from normal people's?" Pansy snapped.
"Oh? If you don't like it, it just means you haven't even taken his class!" Parvati shot back, her voice loud and sharp. "I think you're just jealous—jealous that he's a hundred times better than the Malfoy you adore!"
A burst of laughter erupted around them, with a few Gryffindor students even whistling. Pansy's face darkened instantly.
"I think you're doing this on purpose!" she growled, stepping forward. Her lips trembled with effort. "I'd rather listen to Professor Snape talk about potion ingredients for an hour than watch Lockhart prance around for a minute!"
"My choice is exactly the opposite of yours," Parvati replied, also stepping forward.
Robert tiptoed around them and made his way to the Gryffindor table, sitting next to Neville.
"What's going on with them?" Robert asked.
"It's because of Defence Against the Dark Arts," Neville said, having arrived early and seen the whole thing.
Slytherin had had class with Ravenclaw that morning, and the feedback wasn't great.
It wasn't terrible, just... underwhelming—similar to Quirrell's lecture-reading. Given Lockhart's fame and prior expectations, the disappointment was understandable. Only his most devoted fans believed the lackluster lesson was due to first-day jitters.
Even though the explanation was weak, it was accepted by most students.
But everything changed after the afternoon class, where Lockhart's reputation soared, praised especially by the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students.
That sudden reversal infuriated the Slytherins. Feeling deceived, they lashed out—resulting in the current conflict.
"Were Lockhart's two classes different?" Robert asked.
"I don't know," Neville said. "But I heard there were no Cornish Pixies in the morning... Lucky them."
His voice carried undisguised envy.
Robert understood perfectly. During the afternoon class, Neville had been hoisted to the ceiling by Cornish Pixies and nearly broke his leg. It was only natural he didn't like the lesson.
But Robert was focused on something else.
Pansy Parkinson was also a second-year student—so why were the morning and afternoon Defence classes different for the same year?
Did Lockhart not have the Pixies ready in the morning? But there were only a few hours between classes—what were the odds?
Or was it because Pansy was in Slytherin?
Robert doubted Lockhart would plan different lessons based on Houses.
Could it really be that he just wanted to impress Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived?
As he pondered, Harry entered the Hall. Meanwhile, more students gathered around Pansy and Parvati.
Robert spotted Fred and George in the mix.
Given the long-standing feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin, nobody cared who started the argument—each side would support their own.
The girls' spat escalated into a House-wide confrontation, and as more people joined, more insults flew.
Robert even heard someone on the Gryffindor side shout:
"In my opinion, the Slytherins don't hate Lockhart—they're just more interested in the Dark Arts part of Defence Against the Dark Arts."
That line took things too far.
Everyone in the wizarding world knew that studying Dark Arts was strictly forbidden at Hogwarts. Even if the claim was baseless, no Slytherin could let it slide.
They had to protect their House's reputation.
The verbal dispute immediately escalated into physical shoving, and quickly to drawn wands.
Students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had the good sense to grab their dinner and move to safer ground—away from the coming explosion.
Just as a Slytherin student pulled out a wand—BOOM!
A deafening sound rocked the Hall. Everyone instinctively covered their ears.
Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, smoke rising faintly from the tip of her wand.
"A truly spectacular performance," she said coldly. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and silence swept the Hall.
"Gryffindor and Slytherin will each lose fifty points. You are forbidden from using the Quidditch pitch for two months!"
"No!"
"Professor McGonagall, you can't—"
"In fact, I can!" she said sternly, shooting a glance at Wood and Montague. "If this punishment doesn't teach you a lesson—"
"Oh, it's quite lively here. Did something happen?" A flamboyant voice rang out as Gilderoy Lockhart appeared behind her.
Seeing the stand-off in the Hall, he grinned.
"Ah-ha! Student conflict," he said. "Leave it to me, Minerva. I've quelled snowman riots countless times and always handled them perfectly."
Lockhart spoke with excitement, unaware that the "riot" was entirely his fault.
"No need, Professor Lockhart," McGonagall snapped, a vein throbbing in her forehead. She turned back to the Hall, her gaze slicing through the crowd like a blade.
"Ah, tonight's stew is really good," Fred said suddenly, sitting back at the Gryffindor table. George and Lee Jordan followed suit.
"Yeah, it's delicious."
Though the Slytherins believed Gryffindor had started it—and that McGonagall couldn't deny them Quidditch—they didn't dare speak up.
"Let's go," Montague said. "We'll wait for Professor Snape."
Soon, the Hall returned to order.
Lockhart, disappointed, kept talking to McGonagall about snowman riots.
He grew increasingly animated, unaware of the ghost creeping above him.
"Welcome ceremony, Professor Sparkles!" Peeves shrieked from above, dumping a bag of flour onto Lockhart's head.
Poof—white smoke burst around him.
His golden curls, perfectly angled hat, and violet robes were all coated in flour. He looked exactly like... a snowman.
"Heh-heh!" someone giggled, and soon the entire Hall erupted with laughter.
"Wow! Come see Peeves' masterpiece!" Peeves crowed. "You're the whitest Professor at Hogwarts now—whiter than ghosts, whiter than snowmen, whiter than your teeth..."
"Peeves!" McGonagall roared, though her lips twitched suspiciously. "Leave the Great Hall immediately."
"Yes, Professor McGonagall!" Peeves flipped in the air and vanished with a shriek.
"Are you... are you alright, Professor Lockhart?" McGonagall looked at the flour-covered figure beside her. Her lips twitched again, but she quickly hid the smile.
"I was looking elsewhere when Peeves came in. I didn't see him in time."
"Ah-ha... I actually... spotted that naughty little thing earlier," Lockhart said, puffing a small cloud of flour with every word. "That level of sneak attack was too obvious, wasn't it? But I thought a little laughter was needed right now..."
Even now, he managed to flash his gleaming white teeth.
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