Chapter 96

“Why not?!” Severus asked the librarian, Madam Pince, in the library. “There’s no rule saying I can’t borrow fifty books at once.”

“I can add that rule right now,” Madam Pince replied coldly, her fingers tapping lightly on the loan register.

The two had been locked in a stalemate for ten minutes; no matter what Severus said, Madam Pince refused to let him borrow fifty books at once.

“Professor McGonagall asked me to borrow them,” Severus said, holding up the parchment listing the titles, trying to reason with her.

Madam Pince glanced at it—and to her surprise, the handwriting was unmistakably Minerva McGonagall’s.

But how could Minerva let a student borrow fifty books? Could he even read them all?

“I’ll allow you to borrow at most five at a time,” Madam Pince said reluctantly.

“Is Professor McGonagall’s reputation worth only two books?” Severus found this hard to believe.

“Then are you taking them or not?” Madam Pince made as if to snatch back the register.

“Fine, I’ll take them!” Severus said. Madam Pince was too stubborn—he’d just have to make multiple trips.

“But I have one condition,” Severus thought for a moment. “If I return books before borrowing again, they shouldn’t count toward the five.”

“Agreed,” Madam Pince said without further refusal—but she added conditions: returned books must be undamaged, and the number of repeated borrowings must be limited.

After the agreement was reached, Madam Pince went to retrieve the books in the order listed on the parchment.

Severus leaned against the wall and waited.

At that moment, a familiar figure appeared in his line of sight.

Draco Malfoy entered hurriedly, clutching two books—clearly here to return them.

Unbelievable. Malfoy actually comes to the library to read?

Draco also spotted Severus. Instantly, his whole body tensed, a flicker of wariness flashing in his eyes.

Come on. Is it really that bad?

Severus hadn’t expected such a strong reaction. But from Draco’s behavior at Flourish and Blotts, he clearly hadn’t understood what Severus had meant.

Had Lucius Malfoy told him about the family history?

But before Severus could think further, a hand reached out.

“Hello, Severus. I think we had a misunderstanding,” Draco Malfoy stepped forward—and now, his eyes held no trace of wariness.

“There was indeed a misunderstanding,” Severus replied, no longer pretending not to see him. They shook hands briefly.

“Let me clarify—I didn’t lift a finger at Flourish and Blotts.”

“What?” Draco’s face twisted as if recalling the scene. “Of course I know—it was those stupid Weasleys, ganging up on me, a pack of disgraceful cowards.”

Clearly, he still cared deeply about what happened that day at Flourish and Blotts.

The Weasleys were too many, and with Potter as their accomplice, it was five against two. Draco felt dozens of feet kicking him—he’d never been humiliated like that.

Now that Severus brought it up again, Draco had nothing but venom to spew, his insults growing cruder and his emotions more heated.

“The Weasleys—and Potter—I’ll make them pay!”

“Silence!” Madam Pince suddenly appeared, cutting off Draco’s tirade.

“No shouting in the library. If you can’t manage it, leave!” She placed five books of varying thicknesses before Severus.

“Here are the books you requested.”

“Thank you, Madam Pince,” Severus said. He glanced once more at Draco Malfoy, shrugged, and carried the books out of the library.

Dinner was onion stew—mediocre at best, even worse than the garlic stew at the Leaky Cauldron—but Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students ate it with relish.

Meanwhile, Gryffindor and Slytherin were arguing again, because there was a better show to watch.

As Severus entered the Great Hall, he saw Pansy Parkinson and Parvati Patil facing off in the aisle, their voices raised in furious exchange.

“Lockhart’s class is absolutely terrible. I don’t understand how you find it entertaining… Do Gryffindors have brains made of something else?”

“Oh? If you don’t like it, that just proves you’ve never even attended his class!” Parvati shot back, her voice clear and loud. “I think you’re just jealous—he’s a hundred times better than your precious Malfoy!”

Laughter erupted around them; several Gryffindors even whistled. Pansy’s face darkened instantly.

“You’re doing this on purpose!” She stepped forward, her lips trembling with rage. “I’d rather listen to Professor Snape lecture on potion recipes for an hour than waste a single minute watching Lockhart preen!”

“My preference is exactly the opposite,” Parvati stepped forward as well.

Severus carefully circled around and slipped quietly to the Gryffindor table, sitting beside Neville.

“What’s going on with them?” Severus asked.

“It’s about Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Neville replied. He’d arrived earlier and witnessed the whole thing.

Slytherin had had Defense Against the Dark Arts that morning, together with Ravenclaw—but the students’ feedback afterward had been poor.

It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t much better than Quirrell’s rote recitations.

Compared to Lockhart’s fame and everyone’s high expectations, the result disappointed many. Only a few fanatics claimed it was simply his first lesson, and lack of experience explained it.

Though weak, this excuse was accepted by most.

But after the afternoon class, Lockhart’s reputation flipped completely—he was nearly worshipped by Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students.

Slytherin, who had always clashed with Gryffindor, now felt betrayed. Furious, they erupted into this scene in the Great Hall.

“Aren’t Lockhart’s two classes the same?” Severus couldn’t help asking.

“I don’t know,” Neville shook his head. “But I heard there were no Cornish pixies this morning… That’s nice.”

His voice carried unmistakable envy.

Severus understood. After all, Neville had been the only one dragged to the ceiling by Cornish pixies in class, nearly breaking his leg—he had every reason to dislike it.

But compared to Neville, Severus cared more about another thing.

Pansy Parkinson was also a second-year student. Why, then, were the morning and afternoon Defense Against the Dark Arts classes so different?

Hadn’t he gotten the Cornish pixies yet? But only a few hours had passed—could it really be that coincidental?

Or was it because Pansy Parkinson was Slytherin? Severus never believed Lockhart would prepare different lessons for different houses.

It couldn’t possibly be because he wanted to put on a grand show for Harry, the Boy Who Lived.

As he thought this, Harry entered the hall—and Pansy and Parvati’s supporters kept arriving.

Severus also spotted Fred and George.

Given the relationship between Gryffindor and Slytherin, they didn’t need to know what happened or who was right—they just sided with their own, no questions asked.

The argument escalated into a full-blown house standoff. As more students joined, more insults flew.

Severus even heard someone from Gryffindor shout:

“I think Slytherins don’t hate Lockhart—they just love the ‘Dark’ part of Defense Against the Dark Arts!”

This remark instantly escalated the conflict.

Every wizard in the magical world knew Hogwarts strictly forbade students from learning Dark Magic. So whether true or not, Slytherin students could never admit it.

They had to defend their honor.

Verbal sparring turned to physical brawling, then rapidly spiraled into magical dueling.

Students from the other two houses—those with sense—had already taken their dinners and retreated farther away… to avoid getting splattered with blood.

Just as a Slytherin pulled out his wand… a deafening explosion made everyone instinctively cover their ears.

Professor McGonagall stood at the doorway, a wisp of smoke still curling from her wand tip.

“A splendid performance,” she said tightly, and everyone fell silent. “Fifty points from Gryffindor and fifty from Slytherin. No Quidditch for two months.”

“No!”

“Professor McGonagall, you can’t—”

“Actually, I can!” McGonagall shot a sharp glance at Wood and Slytherin’s Montague. “If this punishment still doesn’t teach you—”

“Oh, what a lively scene! What’s happened?” A flippant voice echoed behind McGonagall. Gilderoy Lockhart appeared.

He also saw the two opposing groups in the hall.

“Ah, student conflict,” he said to McGonagall. “Leave it to me, Minerva. I’ve calmed snowman riots countless times—and always perfectly.”

Lockhart spoke cheerfully, utterly unaware that this so-called riot had been caused by him.

“Not necessary, Professor Lockhart,” McGonagall’s temple twitched. She raised her head, her gaze slicing through the hall like a blade.

“Ah, tonight’s stew is excellent,” Fred was the first to return to the Gryffindor table. Then George and Lee Jordan sat down too.

“Yes, it’s really good.”

Slytherins were dissatisfied—they believed Gryffindor had started it, and McGonagall had no right to ban them from the Quidditch pitch—but they dared not defy her now.

“Let’s go,” Montague said. “We’ll deal with the rest when Professor Snape arrives.”

Soon, the once-tense Great Hall returned to order.

Lockhart seemed disappointed he hadn’t helped. Once everyone was seated, he kept chattering to McGonagall about how he’d handled snowman riots.

He grew more animated, completely unaware that a ghost was creeping silently above his head.

“Welcome ceremony, Professor Shiny-Shiny!” Peeves suddenly shrieked, hurling a sack of flour onto Lockhart’s head.

Puff! Lockhart was engulfed in white dust. His carefully curled golden hair, his dashing wizard hat, his favorite violet robe—all now coated in thick flour. He looked like… a snowman.

“Pfft.” Someone started laughing. Then the entire hall erupted in uproarious laughter.

“Wow! Look at Peeves’s masterpiece!” Peeves’s voice was loudest of all. “You’re the whitest professor at Hogwarts—whiter than ghosts, whiter than snowmen, whiter than your teeth—”

“Peeves!” McGonagall barked—but her lips twitched suspiciously. “Leave the hall at once!”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall!” Peeves flipped midair and cackled as he zoomed away.

“Are you… all right, Professor Lockhart?” McGonagall glanced at the white, flour-covered creature beside her. Her lips twitched again, then she forced them still. “When Peeves came in, I was looking elsewhere. I didn’t warn you in time.”

“Ah, actually… I spotted that mischievous little fellow right away,” Lockhart opened his mouth—and another puff of flour drifted out.

He strained to form a smile, his voice trembling noticeably. “This kind of ambush is far too obvious, isn’t it? But I thought a little laughter was needed…”

Yet astonishingly, even in this humiliation, he still flashed his dazzlingly bright teeth.

But surprisingly, even in this predicament, he still couldn’t help showing off his gleaming teeth.

……

(Chapter ends)