Chapter 111: The Obsessive Luohate

After finally coaxing Colin Creevey away, Silven was at last able to take his first bite of beef pie.

"Silven, did you go to Luohate's office?" Ron suddenly leaned over and asked.

"No, why?"

"Nothing, just heard that Luohate stood outside his office door like a stuffed specimen all morning."

"He's not a specimen!" Hermione said irritably. "Professor Luohate is simply waiting for an important guest."

"Must be pretty important," Ron muttered under his breath. "Everyone says he was dressed like a showy Kong Que."

"It's a ceremonial robe!" Hermione said. "It's only worn on important holidays—it's the greatest sign of respect for a guest."

Silven cut himself another piece of pie. He seemed to know who Luohate was waiting for—unless something unexpected happened, it was probably Rita Skeeter.

Which also meant the one who tipped off the Daily Prophet was Luohate himself—he really couldn't resist the lure of a front-page headline.

But why had Rita Skeeter come to find him first?

He was only a wandmaker who played with wood and magical creatures (Rita Skeeter's introduction of Garrick), after all.

In terms of fame, he couldn't say he had none at all, but the most he was known for was dismantling the dormitory twice, which might still be a talking point among students—nowhere near comparable to Luohate.

Then why had Rita Skeeter deliberately ambushed him in the second-floor corridor, as if she knew in advance he'd be coming out of the library?

Tom Riddle?

The name that instinctively popped into Silven's mind deepened his suspicion of Luohate once more.

But if Luohate was behind it, why would he be waiting outside his office door?

Silven sighed. A good wand core was certainly hard to come by, but Tom Riddle's constant little schemes were also rather annoying.

And many things he still didn't know whether they were Riddle's doing made it even more vexing.

Silven couldn't help but grumble at Dumbledore in his heart—it's been so long now, and he still can't even find a single student carrying a diary?

If it really came to it, he'd just tell Harry about this.

With Harry's cleverness and bravery, he'd surely break through every hardship and danger and find the basilisk and the diary.

Uh, never mind then… Silven suddenly recalled Harry's drowsy, half-asleep look.

He'd already felt bad enough about pushing Colin Creevey onto Harry again—something as dangerous as the Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk, he'd better not involve him for now.

He'd wait a while longer. Besides, it might not be Tom Riddle pulling strings—he couldn't possibly know Silven. Maybe that note just had some kind of Special magic.

For instance, whoever saw it first would automatically write a line of text designed to frighten them.

There were plenty of such magics at Hogwarts.

……

Although he thought this way, after finishing lunch, Silven still found an excuse to visit Luohate's office.

Just as Ron had said, today's Luohate really did look like a showy Kong Que.

On his forget-me-not pale-blue ceremonial robe, all sorts of exquisite patterns were embroidered, and these patterns together formed a large "GL"—the initials of his name.

The white cuffs had elaborate ruffles, adorned with a brilliant amethyst, paired with a collar trimmed in gold lace… Silven couldn't quite understand this design—maybe it was the current trend.

After all, it had been a long time since he'd been to a proper clothing store… school robes excepted.

"Oh—it's Silven." A flicker of disappointment crossed Luohate's face, but it vanished quickly, and he immediately put on a very enthusiastic smile. "Here for another autograph, are you? You're truly the greediest student I've ever met, but that's quite all right—who would refuse to give their admirer a little special treatment?"

As he spoke, Luohate had already drawn out an enormous Kong Que feather quill.

"Not a book this time, Professor." Silven struggled to keep the disdain for the Kong Que feather quill off his face.

That thing really was ugly—even flashier than a shorthand quill, and absurdly expensive. He felt that aside from Luohate, absolutely no one else would buy it.

"I'd like to borrow three books, but they're all in the Restricted Section." Silven took out a piece of parchment and set it on the desk. "So I need a professor's signature."

Luohate glanced down.

Talking Books: An Advanced Guide to Curses, Singing Silverware and Talking Diaries, Dangerous Human Transfiguration

"At your age, isn't it a bit early to be getting into these?" The hand holding Luohate's quill paused slightly, his gaze landing on the word "curses."

"Why don't you go to Minerva?"

"I believe you understand curses far better than Professor McGonagall," Silven said, watching his expression. "In Break with a Banshee, you used ginger root powder to resolve the Wan Lun banshee's curse."

"Ah, that is true—Break with a Banshee is probably my favorite of my books." Luohate beamed, and with a grand flourish of his quill, he left his name on the parchment.

"I must warn you—don't go thinking about doing anything bad."

"Of course not, Professor," Silven said.

After walking out of the office, he casually tore off the top two names on the parchment.

Those two books had been made up by him in the first place—they didn't exist in the Restricted Section at all.

Still, this time he hadn't caught any slip on Luohate's face either—maybe he really was overthinking it.

Silven walked into the library and handed the remaining parchment to Lady Pince.

"Dangerous Human Transfiguration?" She gave Silven a suspicious look, then cast an even more suspicious gaze at the ornate signature on the parchment. After a good while, she said:

"Transfiguration again. Wait here."

It looked like the signature had passed.

The Transfiguration journals Silven had been reading had mentioned that book more than once, and everyone's views were strikingly consistent.

Although the book was explicitly labeled as a highly dangerous magical text, the human transfiguration techniques recorded within were genuinely hard to give up.

In other words, this was a book that had received broad academic recognition—at least in the field of human transfiguration.

Silven had always wanted to read it, but Professor McGonagall wouldn't allow it. This time, he'd taken the chance to use Luohate to sort it out.

A few minutes later, Silven left the library with a thick book with a red cover.

By the time he returned to the common room, Ron was, as always, wrestling with his homework.

"How is it still eight inches short? I calculated it perfectly!"

"Then just write the letters bigger," Harry said.

"You're already about the same as Nat now." Ron sighed.

"Harry?" Silven was a little surprised — he actually saw Harry with nothing to do in the common room!

So Oliver Wood has finally been dragged off by Dementors for abusing his players?

"The match is tomorrow." Harry explained. "Oliver gave us a day off, saying it's a necessary pre-match relaxation. This is the first time in days I've slept until seven in the morning."

Silven actually heard a sense of happiness in his words — just because he could sleep until seven in the morning… Meanwhile Ron beside him wouldn't get out of bed before half past eight.

And that was only because the castle stairs wasted so much time; otherwise he could have slept another twenty minutes.

Looking at it that way, the Dementors really should drag Oliver Wood off — it felt like he'd gone a bit mad about Quidditch.

Just like Lockhart with the front-page headlines.

"But you don't look relaxed at all." Silven walked over and sat down.

Harry's whole face was scrunched up, his body stiff as a board. He looked like he was doing homework with Ron, but there wasn't a single word on the parchment.

Another look at Ron's… better not. His Potions homework didn't even treat Snape as a person — handing in a blank parchment would probably cost him fewer points.

"Tomorrow's opponent is strong?" Silven asked casually.

"Slytherin." Harry said worriedly. "They're about average in skill, but they've got seven Nimbus 2001s. It's going to be hard for us to win."

"What did I tell you — you should still swap the broomstick handle for an oversized wand." Silven tempted. "How about giving it a try? Give me one night, and I promise I'll return you a brand-new Nimbus 2000."

"N-no, better not." Harry laughed dryly and refused Silven's suggestion.

Setting aside whether a "wand broom" even meets the match requirements, Harry couldn't even be sure the broom would still fly after turning the wooden handle into a wand.

But as far as Silven was concerned, there was no need to worry about that at all.

The Quidditch rules only say players aren't allowed to use wands during the match — they never said you couldn't remodel a broom into a wand… No, then it wouldn't be called a wand.

A magic broom that can cast magic — that's perfectly reasonable.

Seeing Silven about to say more, Harry quickly changed the subject. "What's that in your hand?"

"Oh, a book I just borrowed from the library." Silven said. "Want to take a look?"

"No need for that one." Harry quickly shook his head.

"What a shame." Silven said. "This book isn't easy to borrow normally — you need a professor's signature."

Harry didn't take it to heart either. Just finishing his homework on time was hard enough for him now — where would he find the mood to read anything outside the textbooks?

"Will you come watch the match tomorrow?" Harry asked. "Last year, you were the only one in Gryffindor who didn't come watch."

"Who said that? I clearly went." Silven argued. "I even remember you caught the Golden Snitch in five minutes."

Silven really wasn't very interested in a sport like Quidditch. After watching that one match last year, he didn't find it all that interesting either.

But this year he would definitely go watch the match.

Because most wizards still liked Quidditch, and this was the first match of the new school year — almost every student, professors included, would go to the pitch.

When that time came, the whole castle would be no different from being empty, and Silven didn't feel that was safe.

The odds were slim, sure, but what if the Basilisk got out again? He couldn't just go and petrify himself a second time — and if someone finished him off with a Blasting Curse on top of that, he'd really be done for.

So at a time like this, sticking with the majority was definitely the safest bet.

……

(End of chapter)