Chapter 113

"Thank you, Silven, I'm grateful you called Madame Pomfrey in time."

This wasn't even the first time Harry had thanked him, but every time he saw Malfoy in the next bed, a wave of relief washed over him—like he'd barely escaped death.

And he sincerely thanked Silven.

Malfoy's legs lay limp and flat on the bed, like a thick, flesh-colored rubber boot; LoHate had pulled out every bone in his leg.

If Madame Pomfrey hadn't been there, he might have suffered the same fate.

His legs were the least of it—Harry's shoulder was injured too, right next to his neck; if LoHate had slipped even slightly and pulled out a bone from his throat…

Harry shuddered involuntarily and looked again at Silven. "I'll give you all my Chocolate Frog cards—I know you collect them too."

"I don't need extra Dumbledores. Keep them yourself," Silven said.

Harry felt embarrassed—half his cards were Dumbledores.

Malfoy still hadn't woken up; after realizing his leg bones had been removed, he'd remained unconscious.

"What was the result of the match?" Harry asked.

"It's complicated," Ron said angrily. "Malfoy jumped onto your broom—that was already a foul. Marcus Flint insists the match was invalid from that moment, and Madam Hooch did blow her whistle."

"What do you mean?" Harry's heart lurched.

"He claims you caught the Golden Snitch after the whistle—so it doesn't count…"

"How is that fair? I didn't even hear the whistle!" Harry exploded. "I had to watch the Golden Snitch and keep from being dragged off my broom by Malfoy!"

"Oliver said the same thing—they can't disqualify your score!" Ron grew angrier, clenching his fists, his gaze flickering over the unconscious Malfoy as if he might charge over and punch him at any moment.

But doing so would have angered Madame Pomfrey, and Silven and Ron were both thrown out of the hospital wing.

"Sorry… I just got too angry," Ron said awkwardly, looking at Silven.

"It's fine. We were only allowed ten minutes of visiting anyway," Silven said. "Where's Hermione? Isn't he coming to see Harry?"

"Hermione went to Professor McGonagall," Ron said. "She thinks Malfoy's actions were attempted murder. She went straight to McGonagall the moment the match ended."

"I wish the school would expel Malfoy—he nearly got Harry's head knocked off by a Bludger."

He glanced back at the hospital wing, regretting he hadn't actually punched Malfoy.

Malfoy was unconscious then, and Madame Pomfrey was brewing potions—no one would've known if he'd landed a few good hits.

By the time the two returned to the castle, everyone was loudly debating the match's outcome—and whether LoHate's act of pulling out Malfoy's bones had been intentional.

Though it clearly looked like a magical accident, Malfoy was no longer in pain, at least.

When lunchtime came, Oliver brought good news.

Madam Hooch dismissed Marcus Flint's protest and ruled the match result valid.

"The offender was Draco Malfoy," Fred mimicked Madam Hooch's voice vividly. "Harry Potter caught the Golden Snitch despite the interference—that's a fair and legitimate win."

"Exactly!" George cheered. "There's no rule in Quidditch that says the Seeker's match is void if he's knocked off his broom."

"Professor LoHate must've thought the same thing," Fred grinned. "That's why he took the chance to pull out Malfoy's bones."

"I heard Malfoy's going to drink Skele-Gro."

"Believe me, it's awful—feels like knives slicing through flesh."

"And he's got about twenty-six bones to regrow."

The Weasley brothers traded lines, then exchanged a glance and shouted together:

"I declare…"

"Gilderoy LoHate is the greatest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!"

Just then, LoHate happened to pass by the doorway. Hearing this, he hurried away at once.

He loved the spotlight—but not this kind.

Slytherins were all children of pure-blood families; angering them was no small matter.

But while LoHate wanted to lie low, Fred and George had no intention of letting him off.

Their sharp eyes immediately noticed the scene at the door.

"It's Professor LoHate!" George shouted. "Anyone want to go get his autograph?"

Instantly, dozens responded—nearly half of Gryffindor followed them out.

"So many students wanting his autograph—Professor LoHate must be thrilled," Silven said, but beside him, Hermione's face was tight, clearly not thrilled at all.

That afternoon, Lucius Malfoy arrived at the school to collect Draco. It was said he also went to the headmaster's office and had a furious argument with Dumbledore.

No one knew what was said in the headmaster's office, but before leaving, Lucius had threatened to rally the Board of Governors to remove Dumbledore as headmaster.

But hardly anyone cared.

"Threaten Dumbledore? Who does he think he is?" Ron scoffed, his tone dripping with contempt for Lucius.

Even the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, wouldn't dare claim he could replace Dumbledore—let alone some Malfoy.

That night, Gryffindor common room held a grand feast to celebrate their first Quidditch victory.

Too bad Harry had to stay overnight in the hospital wing—if the hero of the match had been there, the party would've been perfect.

Still, the feast lasted well into the night.

On Sunday morning, Silven didn't head to the library as usual—he went to the Forbidden Forest to visit Hagrid.

"Oh, I thought you'd forgotten how to get here," Hagrid said, sounding unimpressed.

"Don't say that, Hagrid," Silven said, feeling guilty—he hadn't been here in nearly half a year, counting holidays.

"I just had a little disagreement with Fluffy," Silven glanced around. "He's not here, is he?"

"Fluffy's way deep in the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid said, his tone softening. "Last year, Fluffy didn't chase you on purpose—he was under dark magic influence. Most of the time, he's a sweet, well-behaved lad."

Silven gave a nervous chuckle, saying nothing.

As a half-giant who could knock a full-grown three-headed dog flying, Hagrid was perfectly entitled to call Fluffy a sweet, well-behaved lad.

But Silven wasn't—he was twelve, barely as tall as one of Fluffy's heads.

Besides, his grudge with Fang wasn't just from that one chase through the castle.

His current most-used wand, Silver Mane, has a core that includes two teeth from a three-headed hound—and this is also the main reason Silven feels guilty.

That is, if three-headed hounds could talk, it would probably have run off to complain to Hagrid long ago.

The two chatted for a while longer, and the small trace of displeasure in Hagrid's heart faded; he even brought Silven a plate of his signature rock cakes.

"All right, I heard from Harry that you've practically been living in the library this year?" Hagrid poured himself another cup of tea.

"Not that exaggerated," Silven said. "I just wanted to master Animagus transformation as soon as possible, so I read a few more Transfiguration books, that's all."

"Animagus?" Hagrid said, surprised. "That's a very difficult branch of Transfiguration. They say only a wizard who can transform himself completely into a single animal has any chance of learning it."

"Yeah, it's really hard." Silven picked up his teacup and took a sip.

As for the rock cakes… he had only just finished breakfast and wasn't that hungry yet.

"How many books have you read?" Hagrid asked.

"Counting magazines, almost thirty, I suppose." Silven thought for a moment. "A few of them need to be read over and over, otherwise I could probably have gotten through even more."

"Thirty books…" Hagrid pressed his lips together; he couldn't even get through a single one.

"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with reading hard, it's just… aren't you being a little too impatient? I think the way Hermione does it is fine.

"She likes reading too, but she gives herself a holiday every now and then."

"I do as well," Silven said. "I even went to watch the Quidditch match yesterday."

"Speaking of matches," Hagrid suddenly asked, "I heard Harry got hurt. How is he? Is he all right?"

"Broke a few bones, nothing serious. He should be discharged today."

"That's good to hear," Hagrid said.

Afterwards he took Silven to see the pumpkin patch outside.

If you came before Halloween, you could see pumpkins in the patch as big as carriages, but Halloween had only just passed, and the newly planted pumpkin seeds hadn't grown yet.

Beside the vegetable patch was a circle of open ground fenced off with a hedge, where chickens, polecats, and other small animals were kept.

"That's to deal with the carnivorous slugs in the vegetable patch," Hagrid explained. "Those annoying things have nearly ruined all the school's cabbages."

Hogwarts grows a lot of its own vegetables too, but not here—those are in a much larger kitchen garden behind the castle.

"How are these roosters?" Silven asked casually.

"Brilliant—better than any potion." Hagrid said. "Only Buckbeak is always eyeing them up. I told him these aren't food."

Silven nodded.

He counted—Hagrid kept eight roosters in all, every one of them full of spirit with bright, glossy feathers.

Looks like the carnivorous slugs make a fine meal for them too.

……

By noon, Silven was ready to leave. He opened his Transform-Lizard leather bag.

"Oh right, I also brought you a gift this time."

"A gift… oh, hold on." Just then Hagrid suddenly thought of something, hurried over to a cabinet, took out a cloth bag from inside, and handed it to Silven.

"Speaking of gifts, I gathered all these from the Forbidden Forest. I didn't know exactly what you needed, so I just picked up everything I could. If you hadn't come, I wouldn't have known where to put them."

……

(End of chapter)