Chapter 113: The Glorious Lochhart

"Thank you, Silven, I’m grateful you called Madam Pomfrey in time."

This was no longer the first time Harry had thanked him, but every time he saw Malfoy in the next bed, a wave of relief washed over him—he had survived.

And he sincerely thanked Silven.

Malfoy’s leg lay limp and flat on the bed, like a thick, flesh-colored rubber boot—Lochhart had pulled out the entire bone.

If Madam Pomfrey hadn’t been there, he might have suffered the same fate.

His leg was bad enough, but Harry’s shoulder was injured too, right beside his neck—if Lochhart had slipped even slightly and pulled out the bones in 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 any extra Dumbledores. Keep them yourself," Silven said.

Harry felt embarrassed—half his cards were of Dumbledore.

Malfoy still hadn’t woken up; after realizing his leg bones were gone, he had 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 sank.

"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 focus on the Golden Snitch and keep from being dragged off my broom by Malfoy!"

"Oliver said the same thing—they can’t disqualify you!" 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 Madam Pomfrey, and both Silven and Ron were 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 find Professor McGonagall," Ron said. "She thinks Malfoy’s actions were attempted murder. She went straight to McGonagall after the match."

"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, and Madam Pomfrey was brewing potions—no one would’ve known if he’d landed a couple of blows.

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

Though it clearly looked like a magical mishap, the fact remained: Malfoy no longer felt any pain.

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."

"That’s right!" George cheered. "There’s no rule in Quidditch that says the Seeker’s catch is void if he’s knocked off his broom."

"Professor Lochhart must’ve thought the same," 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—it feels like knives slicing through your flesh."

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

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

"I declare..."

"Gilderoy Lochhart is the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!"

At that moment, Lochhart happened to pass by the doorway. Hearing this, he hurried away as fast as he could.

He loved the spotlight—but not this kind.

The Slytherins were all children of pure-blood families. Angering them was no small matter.

But while Lochhart wanted to keep a low profile, Fred and George had no intention of letting him off.

Their sharp eyes immediately noticed the scene at the door.

"It’s Professor Lochhart!" George shouted. "Anyone want to join us and ask for his autograph?"

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

"With so many students wanting his autograph, Professor Lochhart 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. Rumor had it 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 for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, wouldn’t dare claim he could replace Dumbledore. What made Lucius Malfoy think he could?

That night, the 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 celebration lasted well into the night.

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

"Oh, I thought you’d forgotten how to get here," Hagrid said, sounding less than pleased.

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

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

"Fluffy’s deep inside 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 laugh, saying nothing.

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

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

And his feud with Fluffy wasn’t just about that chase through the castle.

His current wand, Silvermane, had two of Fluffy’s teeth as its core—and that was precisely why he felt guilty.

If Fluffy could speak, he’d have complained to Hagrid long ago.

They chatted a while longer, and Hagrid’s small resentment faded—he even served Silven his famous Rock Cakes.

"Alright, I heard from Harry you’re practically living in the library this year?" Hagrid poured another cup of tea.

"It’s not that extreme," Silven said. "I’m just reading more Transfiguration books to learn Animagus transformation as quickly as possible."

"Animagus?" Hagrid exclaimed. "That’s a very difficult form of Transfiguration. Only wizards who can fully transform into an animal can learn it."

"Yes, it’s extremely hard," Silven took a sip of tea.

As for the Rock Cakes... he’d just eaten breakfast and wasn’t hungry yet.

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

"Including magazines, about thirty," Silven thought. "A few need rereading, so I could’ve read more if I hadn’t gone back over them."

"Thirty..." Hagrid pursed his lips—he couldn’t even finish one book.

"I’m not saying studying hard is bad, it’s just... aren’t you rushing too much? I think Hermione’s approach is fine."

"She loves reading too, but she takes breaks sometimes."

"I do too," Silven said. "I went to the Quidditch match yesterday."

"Speaking of the match," Hagrid suddenly asked. "I heard Harry got hurt. How is he? Is he alright?"

"A few broken bones, nothing serious. He should be discharged today."

"Good," Hagrid said.

Then he took Silven to see the pumpkin patch outside.

If you’d come before Halloween, you’d see pumpkins as big as carriages—but Halloween had just passed, and the newly planted seeds hadn’t grown yet.

Beside the vegetable patch was a fenced-off area where chickens and weasels were kept.

"They’re to deal with the carnivorous slugs in the garden," Hagrid explained. "Those annoying creatures nearly destroyed all the school’s cabbages."

Hogwarts grew many of its own vegetables, but not here—there was a larger garden behind the castle.

"How are the roosters doing?" Silven asked casually.

"Perfect," Hagrid said. "Better than any potion. It’s just that Buckbeak keeps eyeing them—I told him they’re not food."

Silven nodded.

He counted—Hagrid kept eight roosters, all lively and with bright, glossy feathers.

Clearly, the carnivorous slugs made excellent meals for them.

By noon, Silven prepared to leave and opened his Transfigured lizard-skin bag.

"By the way, I brought you a gift this time."

"A gift... Oh, wait." Hagrid suddenly remembered something and hurried to a cabinet, pulling out a cloth sack and handing it to Silven.

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

(End of Chapter)