Thanks to Tom Riddle, after Dumbledore took away the dirty paper, he awarded another thirty points to Gryffindor.
As for Snape's threatened punishment—deducting a hundred points and giving detention—Dumbledore unilaterally decided Snape had merely been speaking in anger, and that it didn't count. That decision, naturally, angered Snape all over again.
Robert had been quite happy initially, even willing to overlook the fact that Snape had secretly taken half a bottle of Mandrake juice from him.
But by the time a third person approached him to ask about what had happened the previous night, he started to understand Snape's irritation.
Someone had spread the story, and now practically everyone in the school knew that Robert had been attacked by a mysterious creature and nearly died.
Even the description of how he was petrified had been exaggerated. According to the gossip, he had been found pitifully curled up in the corridor's corner, panic frozen in his eyes, as if he were silently pleading for a powerful wizard to rescue him from death.
Just hearing Harry describe that made Robert's whole body tense with secondhand embarrassment, his scalp tingling.
Was he really like that?
It didn't seem so. In his memory, he had reacted fairly quickly—using the Unicorn's soul to avoid the Basilisk's gaze and deliberately getting petrified to escape its perception. He'd even intentionally left some Mandrake juice behind to help the school develop a de-petrification potion faster.
Though, because of the Unicorn, that step didn't end up being necessary. That was also the first time Robert had learned that a Unicorn's soul could work like that—a mobile bane to dark magic?
That had genuinely surprised him. But aside from that, even thinking back now, Robert couldn't identify any mistakes he'd made.
"I was almost killed, yes. And I was petrified, also true. But there was no panic," Robert repeated, unsure how many times he'd already said it.
"Where did you even hear that version?" he asked.
"It's all over the school," Ron replied.
"I think you can guess who started it," Harry added, glancing at Hermione and lowering his voice. "That overly dramatic tone—like everyone was waiting for a hero to appear. Doesn't that sound familiar?"
Hmm?
As Harry said it, Robert found the style oddly familiar. He had read something like that recently…
Villagers attacked by werewolves, suffering miserably, praying for a wizard to save them—that was almost word-for-word from Lockhart's book Wandering with Werewolves.
Sure enough, the rumors evolved again the next day.
The first half stayed the same: Robert was attacked and petrified, helpless to resist. But now the second half had been added—according to the latest story, the righteous Lockhart arrived just in time, scared off the attacker, and heroically saved Robert.
"Did Lockhart really save you?" Ron asked during Herbology class, where Professor Sprout was demonstrating how to keep shrivelfigs warm through winter. Both Ron and Harry were watching Robert intently.
Hermione tried to act like she wasn't interested, but even she eventually leaned in to listen.
"What do you think?" Robert sighed, snipping off excess branches. "That thing dared to attack me on the eighth floor. It clearly isn't afraid of Dumbledore. Do you really think it would be scared away by Lockhart's reputation?"
"No!" Harry replied instantly.
"Well… not necessarily," Hermione protested. "Professor Lockhart is… more active. He's done so many amazing things! He's the most popular wizard in the magical world, while Headmaster Dumbledore hasn't made public appearances in ages."
"Hermione, Dumbledore doesn't need to appear," Ron retorted, giving her a look. "And Lockhart hasn't used magic in front of us. Not even once."
It had been two months since term started, and more and more students were beginning to notice that Lockhart hadn't cast a single spell in class—not even a Lumos. Everything was performed by the students themselves.
"But—" Hermione faltered, looking around nervously before glancing at Professor Sprout and suddenly getting an idea. "But none of the other professors said anything! Don't forget, many professors were present that night."
Hermione's confidence seemed to grow as she kept talking. "If Lockhart was lying, wouldn't Professor McGonagall have exposed him?"
"That's where he's clever," Robert shrugged.
The Basilisk had indeed retreated before the professors arrived. Regardless of the real reason, it had fled. While Robert knew the professors weren't the cause, others didn't.
So when Lockhart shamelessly claimed credit for chasing it away, none of the professors publicly corrected him—because no one actually knew why the Basilisk left.
It was the same with Robert's recovery. None of the professors had done anything specific; Robert had come out of his petrified state on his own.
According to Dumbledore's later analysis, it was likely due to the mysterious Unicorn spirit.
But during a Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Lockhart had "accidentally" revealed,
"I just secretly used a Human-Transfiguration Reversal Spell, and I didn't expect it to work… I mean, even the Headmaster failed before me, so I thought the spell was useless."
At the time, Lockhart had been standing far off to the side, and no one knew whether he'd cast any spell at all. So even if everyone suspected he was bragging, they couldn't refute it definitively.
Even Robert didn't bother. He would only explain the truth when someone asked.
The idea of using a Unicorn soul sounded too unbelievable to be accepted anyway.
What's more, Robert had recently found a copy of Magical Me in the bathroom, which made him suspect Lockhart all over again.
Could the diary really not be in Lockhart's hands? Then how did his autobiography end up in the bathroom? Who else would carry such a thick book around?
Although Robert had already told Dumbledore everything, he still wanted to find whoever had stolen his reserved wand core. Ideally, he'd locate the diary before Dumbledore. If not, he'd have to start hunting Horcruxes elsewhere.
Oh, right...
Robert suddenly remembered—there was a Horcrux at Hogwarts. Ravenclaw's Diadem, hidden in the Room of Requirement!
Excitement surged through him, and he nearly sliced the shrivelfig in his hand. Although he managed to stop in time, the sharp scissors nicked the skin, causing the fruit to instantly shrivel into a ball, only a tenth of its original size.
"Concentrate, Mr. Ollivander!" Professor Sprout's voice carried a hint of frustration.
Still, she refrained from punishing him—perhaps out of sympathy, assuming Robert was still shaken from his recent encounter with the Basilisk. She simply handed him another shrivelfig.
This time, Robert focused entirely on trimming the branches, finishing the task swiftly and cleanly.
Once the class was nearly done, Professor Sprout handed out rolls of velvet cloth. "Can anyone tell me why we need to keep shrivelfigs warm before winter?"
Hermione's hand shot up instinctively.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Because the cold makes the fruit shrink and halt its growth," she replied.
"Absolutely right—five points to Gryffindor." Professor Sprout smiled approvingly.
"Now, can anyone explain why we don't move them to a warmer greenhouse?"
"Too much warmth also halts their growth," Hermione continued, not even sitting down. "It's the same reaction as when the plant feels threatened."
"Excellent—another five points to Gryffindor."
Perhaps due to the 130 points Robert had earned earlier, Professor Sprout had adjusted her point rewards—shrinking them from ten to five.
"Everyone, please be careful while wrapping the branches. These shrivelfigs aren't fully ripe yet," she warned, giving Robert a meaningful glance before moving on.
The wrapping task was tedious but simple, and once Sprout turned her attention elsewhere, the group resumed their conversation about Lockhart.
After hearing Robert's full account of the previous night, Harry and Ron were furious.
"We have to expose Lockhart!" Ron declared. "I bet everything he claims to have done is fake."
His bitterness likely stemmed from the time he had to pretend to be a werewolf in Lockhart's class—a moment so mortifying he avoided conversation for two days afterward.
(You only did it once, Harry thought, adjusting his glasses.)
Harry had gotten used to Lockhart's antics by now. As the unofficial "monster impersonator" of the class, he could even mimic howls fluently—werewolf howls had long breath, yetis had heavy tones, banshees were shrill and sharp… all of it learned by unfortunate repetition.
"You just don't like him," Hermione protested. "His books are part of our curriculum. They can't all be fake!"
"Maybe Dumbledore got fooled," Ron muttered.
"You're the only one who would think that."
It felt like the beginning of the school year again, with Ron and Hermione endlessly debating Lockhart's merits.
Meanwhile, Robert continued questioning Harry.
"Has Lockhart done anything suspicious lately?"
Harry considered for a moment, then shook his head. "Not really. He's just being himself—signing autographs everywhere, trying to impress the professors."
"Hagrid said Lockhart offered to teach him how to keep water sprites out of wells—but there are no water sprites at Hogwarts," Harry added, clearly exasperated.
It seemed Lockhart's daily routine hadn't changed—he didn't appear to be under the diary's influence.
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