Chapter 09 – Threads of Rebellion
The days after his collapse at St. Mungo's were quieter but no less busy for Ron. He spent hours at his desk, quill in hand, scratching out lines on parchment until his fingers cramped. The system panel mocked him daily—Drawing: Beginner (Advanced)—a reminder that knowledge wasn't the same as practice.
"Hands can't keep up with the head," Ron muttered, dipping his quill in the newly restored ink bottle. "But fine, I'll force you two to get along."
He practiced endlessly—lines, shapes, proportions. Some sketches resembled humanoid potatoes in fancy cloaks, others had legs longer than a broomstick, but slowly, painfully, his hand grew steadier. Every mistake was a lesson, every blot of ink a step closer.
He updated his tools through the system as he wore them down.
[Input: Quill (used)]
Process: Restoration
Time: 00:00:03
Status: Accepted
[Input: Parchment (damaged, ink stains)]
Process: Restoration
Time: 00:00:03
Status: Accepted
[Input: Ink bottle (empty)]
Process: Restoration
Time: 00:00:05
Status: Accepted
Ron grinned as his tools refreshed, whispering, "Even the best artist needs good gear. No excuses."
But sketches weren't enough. He needed knowledge. Not just of wizarding robes, but of what schools around the world did with their uniforms. Only one eccentric man in Ottery St. Catchpole might have that kind of information—Xenophilius Lovegood.
When Ron arrived at the Lovegood residence, the smell of ink, parchment, and herbs filled the air. Mr. Lovegood sat at a desk cluttered with Quibbler drafts, humming to himself. His radish earrings bobbed as he turned to Ron.
"Ah, young Weasley. Come to uncover the mysteries of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?"
Ron smirked. "Not today, sir. I… actually wanted to know about wizarding school uniforms. What other schools wear. Do you know?"
Xenophilius' eyes lit up. "A noble pursuit! Hogwarts robes are, after all, a relic. Let me think—Beauxbatons prefers refined uniforms, silk-thread enchanted to resist weather. Durmstrang favors martial cuts, thick leather trimmings, and heavy cloaks. Ilvermorny? Practical, flexible—robes that shift slightly with movement. Even Castelobruxo in Brazil opts for enchanted fabrics, light and breathable. Hogwarts…" He sighed. "Wool, and shapeless black. Primitive, truly primitive."
Ron's jaw clenched. "So it's not just me. We really are stuck in the past."
"Quite so," Lovegood replied, rummaging through a drawer and producing a tattered sketch of Beauxbatons uniforms. "If you were to ask me, Hogwarts needs a redesign."
Ron leaned forward. "Hypothetically—say someone wanted to change the uniforms. How would they go about it?"
"Ah," Lovegood said, stroking his chin. "First, you'd need samples—actual uniforms made to demonstrate the design. Those would be sent to the Deputy Headmaster, then the Headmaster, and finally the Hogwarts Board of Governors. They alone can vote and approve such sweeping changes."
Ron frowned. That meant going through Dumbledore. He didn't like the idea of giving the Headmaster full control. "Is there another way?"
Xenophilius gave him a knowing smile. "There is. If one registers the designs with the Ministry of Magic—Department of Magical Standards—you secure legal recognition. Then, if the designs are supplied to a retailer contracted with Hogwarts, and forwarded to the Board, the Headmaster's veto becomes less absolute. The Governors can override him."
Ron tapped the desk thoughtfully. "Override Dumbledore, huh? Tempting. Very tempting." He imagined the old man's face if he tried to block a reform, only for the Governors to force it through. "Still… I think I'll do it clean. Register first, then send to McGonagall, then Dumbledore, then the Board. Let's not pick a war before I'm ready."
"Wise," Lovegood said, nodding. "But you'll need impeccable designs. Drawings, measurements, even the fabric choices. Two weeks, at least."
Ron's eyes narrowed with determination. "Two weeks it is. I'll master drawing, finish the designs, and then—change Hogwarts. One month left before term starts. That's enough."
He stood, offering his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Lovegood. This was… more helpful than you know."
The eccentric man clasped his hand warmly. "Remember, young Weasley, it is not madness to challenge tradition. Sometimes madness is in clinging to it."
Ron left the Lovegood house with his heart burning, his mind already sketching lines, collars, and cuffs. The primitive Hogwarts robes were on borrowed time.