Chapter 110

"Silven Ollivander, can you describe the monster that attacked you?"

"No, it was too dark that night—I didn't see anything." Silven stared coldly at the witch before him, her fingernails painted bright red.

Rita Skeeter, the most infamous troublemaker in the Wizarding World, and one of the few wizards most wished to avoid.

Silven had never imagined that news of his attack would reach the Daily Prophet, let alone that this notorious troublemaker could slip into Hogwarts.

Rita Skeeter frowned, clearly dissatisfied with Silven's answer.

On a nearby stone table, a garishly decorated quill began scribbling furiously across a parchment.

【Young Silven Ollivander, coerced by his professor, was forced to deny encountering a monster in the castle; tears welled in his eyes, brimming with disappointment in Hogwarts.】

Silven glanced at it once, and his temples throbbed.

How had he become disappointed in Hogwarts… well, that was somewhat true—but how could she possibly tell he had tears in his eyes?

Silven now just wanted to get rid of the person in front of him as quickly as possible, but Rita Skeeter blocked the entire corridor; if he wanted to leave, he'd have to squeeze past her.

"Where do you think the monster that attacked you came from?"

"I don't know." Silven replied offhandedly.

"Silven Ollivander admits he was attacked but refuses to name the mastermind behind it, and subtly suggests Dumbledore may be training a secret army…"

No, if she kept writing like this, Dumbledore might storm the Ministry tomorrow and tie Fudge to a horse to play head hockey.

Silven wanted to turn back, yet feared Rita Skeeter would write even more wildly.

Just as Silven was torn, two gray figures suddenly darted out—one in front, one behind.

Mrs. Norris rushed forward first, sprinting straight between their feet. Rita Skeeter stumbled back, crashing into the railing and nearly toppling over.

Then Tom came charging after her—in an instant, he seemed to grasp the situation, leapt high, and planted his hind paws squarely on Rita Skeeter's face before she could steady herself.

Notably, the Forbidden Forest offered Hogwarts' cat an abundance of food; Tom's current weight was already considerable.

Added to that, this was deliberate—he extended his claws as he landed.

"Ah!"

Eight neat bloody scratches instantly appeared on Rita Skeeter's face; when she regained her balance, she still didn't realize what had happened.

Only when she touched the wounds with trembling fingers did she let out a shrill scream.

"Oh, this is Mrs. Norris, the caretaker Argus Filch's cat—how can she run around the corridors like this!" Silven said loudly and clearly.

"Madam," he turned to Rita Skeeter, "I suggest you go to the hospital wing immediately and have Madam Pomfrey apply some Dittany—otherwise, these wounds might leave scars."

"One of my classmates has a scar on his head—he's been tormented by it ever since."

"Yes, yes, Dittany—I need Dittany!" Hearing the word "scar," some nerve in Rita Skeeter snapped; she shrieked and bolted toward the hospital wing.

She had once attended Hogwarts herself, so she knew exactly where it was.

"Well done, Tom," Silven smiled, glancing again at the abandoned quick-quote quill and parchment.

"And these—tear them up."

Tom lunged at once, biting the garish quick-quote quill into shreds within seconds.

The parchment was even easier—Tom had often used it to sharpen his claws during idle moments; soon, scraps of parchment littered every corner of the corridor.

Silven picked up a few larger fragments covered in writing, planning to burn them in the fireplace later.

"Well done," he patted Tom's head again, "I'll treat you to something good sometime—have you heard of a Basilisk?"

Tom tilted his head, clearly unfamiliar.

"Never mind, go play," Silven waved him off. "Go easy on Mrs. Norris—or Filch will run to Professor McGonagall again. He seems to know you're my cat."

Tom meowed and turned to run, whether he understood or not was unclear.

And Mrs. Norris too—when Tom first arrived, getting chased by her was understandable, but now that Tom was nearly as round as a Bludger, how could she still catch him? Clearly, she'd made zero progress.

Silven shook his head, found a staircase leading upward, and headed for Professor McGonagall's office.

Hogwarts wasn't the Ministry—people couldn't just come and go as they pleased, or it would descend into chaos.

After hearing Silven's account, Professor McGonagall's expression darkened instantly, and she rushed to the hospital wing.

But when she arrived, Rita Skeeter was already gone.

She claimed she'd been invited, took half a bottle of Dittany essence, and left.

"Next time you see her, say nothing at all," Professor McGonagall warned.

"Silven Ollivander expresses his resistance through silence…" Silven mimicked the quill's style, "It's useless—she always finds new topics to write about."

"My grandfather was once called by Rita Skeeter a conspirator, accused of crafting so many wands to arm Muggles and lead them in overthrowing the Ministry."

"Mr. Garrick Ollivander… overthrow the Wizarding World?" Professor McGonagall's voice rose sharply, "This is utter nonsense—doesn't she know Muggles can't use wands?"

"I suspect she knows—but what does it matter? People love reading this kind of thing, so she keeps writing it."

Silven shrugged.

"Luckily, she later discovered people were more interested in the idea that Headmaster Dumbledore was a madman, so she switched targets."

Professor McGonagall shot Silven a look… Do you realize what you're saying? Doesn't the Headmaster's reputation matter at all?

"Mr. Ollivander, I will investigate how she entered the school," she said. "If you encounter Rita Skeeter again, remember—say nothing to her."

The two winged boars atop the school's iron gates weren't merely decorative—they blocked every intruder attempting to enter Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall couldn't fathom how Rita Skeeter had gotten in—surely not because her Confundus Charm surpassed Hogwarts' defenses?

If Rita Skeeter possessed such ability… oh, she apparently did—but not necessarily through Confundus Charms. Rather, it was her uncanny knack for uncovering secrets, the very reason she could write so many articles.

After leaving the hospital wing, Silven hurried toward the Great Hall… hopefully lunch hadn't ended yet.

He'd considered asking Professor McGonagall to find out who had told Rita Skeeter about the attack, but decided against it.

Too many people could have done it… last weekend was Hogsmeade weekend, and his attack had been the hottest topic at school these past few days; any student who mentioned it in Hogsmeade might have been overheard.

And then there was the ever-desperate-for-fame Lockhart—he was equally likely.

With no professor refuting him, Lockhart had grown even bolder; he no longer contented himself with hinting during lessons—he now blurted it out openly.

Just like how he had always bragged about converting a vampire into drinking nothing but carrot juice.

Silven figured that if he ever wrote another *How Gilderoy Lockhart Conquered the Curse of the Defence Against the Dark Arts*, this attack on himself would definitely end up in the book.

Someone who loved the spotlight so much — how could he possibly be satisfied showing off only among students?

A student attacked at Hogwarts, Professor Lockhart arrives as a hero and saves the innocent little wizard just in time, then "accidentally" lets slip that the monster's identity is the Basilisk, vanished for centuries.

Hogwarts, a student attacked, a Basilisk — this was practically tailor-made front-page headline material.

Given Lockhart's obsession with the front page, would he pass up such a perfect opportunity?

Silven thought not.

Besides, Rita Skeeter had only asked him about the attack earlier; if Mrs. Norris and Tom hadn't suddenly appeared and interrupted, she probably would have brought up the rescue next.

Thinking this over, Silven had also arrived at the Great Hall.

Fortunately, he wasn't terribly late — plenty of people were still eating. But the moment he stepped inside, an exclamation rang out from not far away:

"It's Silven Ollivander."

A small, thin boy with grey hair came stumbling over, a plain Muggle camera clutched in his hand.

"I'm Colin Creevey—" he said, his face flushed with excitement. "Were you really petrified that night… what did the monster actually look like, was it as terrifying as Professor Lockhart said… could I take a photo of you?"

Silven frowned slightly.

It had been nearly half a month since Halloween now — under normal circumstances this topic should have died down long ago, so why was it still going on?

Running into Rita Skeeter was one thing, but this Colin Creevey — wasn't he Harry's fanatical worshipper?

"I'm taking it for Professor Lockhart," Colin said then. "He said if the photo's good, it can be used as material for his new book."

Perhaps from sheer excitement, Colin's hand trembled and he instinctively pressed the shutter.

The camera flashed a sheet of Bai Guang, but captured nothing at all — blocked completely by a book held up in front of it.

"No need."

Silven raised the *Advanced Transfiguration Guide* in his hand. "Why don't you go photograph someone more worthwhile? Compared to me, Professor Lockhart should want Harry Potter as his material even more."

(End of chapter)