Chapter 131: Lockhart on the Second Floor

Honestly, Lockhart always managed to bring something unexpected, even under circumstances like this.

Silven never imagined he’d one day see a pink Great Hall.

The walls were covered in large clusters of pink flowers, and the ceiling, normally enchanted to mirror the sky, had been painted blue; as people walked beneath it, colorful heart-shaped confetti rained down.

Lockhart wore a matching pink robe and loudly declared it his Valentine’s Day surprise for everyone.

“Due to my absence, you’ve all endured many dull Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons; to make up for it, I’ve taken the liberty of arranging this surprise… Of course, since it’s a surprise, it won’t end here.”

As he finished speaking, twelve sullen little house-elves entered the hall from the other side, and Lockhart announced they would deliver Valentine’s cards throughout the school.

He added that anyone who wanted to send a message but was too shy could ask them.

“I, will not, say a single word to those little elves!” Harry said slowly, having poked at his steak since Lockhart stood up—now he’d turned it into a pile of minced beef.

“Someone might send you a card,” Silven said, brushing heart-shaped confetti off his plate, then serving himself another piece of steak and eating it with relish.

“That’s your third one already,” Hermione said, turning her gaze from Lockhart to Silven. “Is the steak really that good today?”

She cut herself a piece and put it in her mouth.

Nothing special—just like usual.

“It’s fine,” Silven said.

“Then why are you eating so much today?” Hermione asked curiously. “I noticed this morning—you ate five sausages.”

“Because the full moon’s coming,” Silven replied, his voice heavy with a weary sigh.

The full moon meant he’d have to keep chewing mandrake root again, enduring another miserable stretch of poor sleep and worse meals.

While there was still time, he might as well eat as much as he could.

Silven cut another piece of fried pork chop and forced himself to bite into it.

“What does the full moon have to do with you? Only werewolves fear the full moon,” Ron said, staring at Silven as his expression slowly turned to horror. “You—you’re not a werewolf, are you…”

“If I were a werewolf, on the night of the full moon I’d pay you a visit in your dorm,” Silven said without looking up. “Don’t lock the door.”

“Clatter…” Neville’s cutlery clattered onto his plate.

“Neville, Silven’s joking,” Hermione said, shooting a glare at Ron, who was laughing loudly.

“Of course it’s a joke,” Ron said. “Besides, Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn’t let a werewolf stay at Hogwarts.”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that…” Neville’s face turned bright red. He knew perfectly well Silven was a normal wizard—he’d just been slow to react.

Silven didn’t care at all; he kept eating the fried pork chop.

Hermione watched him thoughtfully across the table.

So besides werewolves, what else was connected to the full moon?

She was pondering this when a forced laugh interrupted her thoughts.

Lockhart had just told a joke: that Professor Flitwick was more skilled in charm magic than anyone else, and he’d “kindly” called him “that sneaky old dog.”

But no one else found it funny—not even Flitwick, who buried his face in his hands, refusing to look up.

He was probably regretting having used the wrong spell in the Dueling Club last time—he should’ve just used Avada Kedavra on Lockhart.

More and more people were starting to think the same.

All day long, the little elves kept marching into classrooms, delivering Valentine’s cards, driving the professors to distraction.

Then they received cards too.

Even at lunchtime, one little elf trudged up to Dumbledore and sang in a hoarse voice:

Wise and charming Headmaster of Hogwarts,

Your eyes are like stars in the sky,

Your beard is like a unicorn’s rear,

Praise you, my dear Dumbledore.

At first Dumbledore didn’t mind—he smiled and thanked the elf, saying he hadn’t realized he was so popular.

But he never expected more and more elves to arrive, singing increasingly inappropriate songs—some lines even made him blush.

The hundred-year-old headmaster quickly surrendered, abandoning his favorite custard tart before finishing it, and hurried out of the hall to hide in his office.

There, the stone gargoyles guarded the entrance—the elves couldn’t get in.

Besides Dumbledore, all other professors had faced some form of harassment, but each had their own way of dealing with it.

Snape’s method worked best.

When the first little elf sang in the dungeons, “His hair is greasy enough to make a mermaid slip,” Snape moved with astonishing speed—he scooped up a spoonful of the unknown liquid from Neville’s cauldron and poured it straight into the elf’s mouth.

Neville’s cauldron—no one knew what was in it or what it did.

But the effect was immediate: the elf fell silent, his body turning gray-white within seconds, and purple bubbles began oozing from his mouth.

After that, silence immediately surrounded Snape—no more little elves dared enter the dungeons.

Snape was pleased. He thought Dumbledore was far too lenient; everyone knew he was a gentleman who rarely lost his temper, but sometimes you had to be firm.

Though no more elves bothered him, Snape was thoroughly disgusted by that lyric and didn’t even want dinner.

That night, most of the professors didn’t show up.

Silven had just taken two bites of stew when he suddenly stood up.

The motion startled Harry, who instinctively glanced around—only relaxing when he confirmed no winged little elves were nearby.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing—I’m full,” Silven said, folding an old parchment and slipping it into his pocket.

“But you just sat down,” Harry said, glancing at Silven’s half-eaten stew.

“Maybe I ate too much at lunch,” Silven rose from his seat. “You carry on—I just remembered I’m supposed to return a book to the library today.”

Before he finished speaking, Silven sprinted out of the hall, up the marble staircase to the second floor.

It was dinner time, so the second floor was nearly empty—only a few winged and harp-carrying little elves stood sporadically near the library door.

They’d come to deliver Valentine’s cards to the library but had been chased out by Mrs. Pince and now waited outside.

Silven ignored them, turned down another corridor, and after passing two more, he suddenly stopped.

He looked at the person approaching and said, “Good evening, Professor Lockhart. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to see you either, Mr. Ollivander,” Lockhart said, glancing unconsciously at a closed door beside him.

Silven looked too. “Professor, if I remember correctly, this is a girls’ bathroom—and it’s haunted by a troublesome ghost who hasn’t been used in years.”

“Is that so?” Lockhart nodded, as if utterly unconcerned. “Perhaps I could help her. In Transylvania, I once resolved a ghost’s troubles.”

“So you know it’s a female ghost?” Silven raised an eyebrow.

“Of course,” Lockhart said. “Isn’t this a girls’ bathroom?”

“But I said it hasn’t been used in years,” Silven smiled. “Maybe it’s because there’s a male ghost inside.”

Lockhart’s expression finally shifted slightly.

“I’m joking, Professor,” Silven said. “The ghost’s name is Moaning Myrtle.”

“Ah, of course I know that—she was here when I was a student,” Lockhart said. “But right now, the most important thing is to get to the hall quickly—I hope we still have time for dinner.”

“No problem, Professor,” Silven stepped aside to let Lockhart pass.

“Mr. Ollivander, aren’t you coming?” Lockhart paused. “Come along—we can go together.”

“I’ve already eaten,” Silven said. “I need to hurry back to my dorm—there’s a book I must return today.”

Whether it was an illusion or not, Lockhart’s smile seemed to grow more natural when he heard Silven was returning to his dormitory.

“Good luck,” he said. “Mrs. Pince isn’t someone to cross.”

“I agree.”

They parted at the corner.

Silven stood in the corridor, watching until Lockhart appeared in the entrance hall, then walked over to Myrtle’s bathroom door and glanced inside.

He’d rushed here because he’d seen Lockhart appear on the Marauder’s Map—probably running too fast, he’d been heard, and they’d met at the corner.

But it didn’t matter—he had the Marauder’s Map and knew Lockhart’s exact location.

The magical seal Dumbledore had placed on the bathroom door was still there—but somehow, it looked different from before.

Dumbledore had originally enchanted the door to prevent students from entering, reinforcing it so it couldn’t be opened from either side—only Myrtle, as a ghost, could pass freely.

Dumbledore had also instructed that if anything unusual happened inside, he must be notified immediately.

The seal remained, but its position seemed higher—Silven remembered a symbol below the doorknob; now it was centered, about half an inch off.

He wasn’t sure if he’d misremembered—he pushed the door. It still wouldn’t budge.

…

(End of Chapter)