Chapter 96: Conflict in the Great Hall

"Why can't I borrow them!" In the library, Silven looked at Madam Pince before him and asked, "There doesn't seem to be a rule saying I can't borrow fifty books at once, is there?"

"I can add that rule right now." The librarian Madam Pince said with a cold face, her fingers tapping lightly on the borrowing ledger.

The two had been at a standoff for ten minutes. No matter what Silven said, Madam Pince simply would not agree to let him borrow fifty books in one go.

"It was Professor McGonagall who told me to borrow these." Silven took out the parchment with the book titles written on it, trying to reason with her.

Madam Pince glanced at it. Contrary to her expectations, the handwriting on the parchment really was Minerva McGonagall's.

But how could Minerva have a student borrow fifty books? Could he actually read that many?

"I can allow you to borrow at most five at a time." Madam Pince said with a thoroughly reluctant expression.

"Is Professor McGonagall's face only worth two books?" Silven found it somewhat hard to believe.

"Then are you borrowing them or not." Madam Pince made as if to take back the borrowing ledger.

"I am!" Silven said. Madam Pince was far too impervious to reason; it seemed he'd have to make several more trips.

"But I have one request." Silven thought for a moment, then said, "If I return books before coming to borrow again, they shouldn't count toward those five."

"Fine." This time Madam Pince didn't refuse again, but she did raise a few conditions. First, the returned books couldn't be damaged; second, the number of re-borrowed books couldn't be too many.

After reaching the agreement, Madam Pince went to fetch the books from the back, following the order on the parchment.

Silven leaned against the side and waited.

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

Draco Malfoy walked in hurriedly, clutching two books to his chest; from the look of it, he had come to return them.

Unbelievable — would Malfoy actually come to the library to borrow books and read?

At the same time, Malfoy also saw Silven. For an instant, his entire body tensed up, and a flash of wariness crossed his eyes.

Seriously, is it really necessary?

Silven truly hadn't expected such a strong reaction. But judging from Draco's behavior at Flourish and Blotts that day, he probably didn't even know what those words of his had meant.

Had Lucius Malfoy told him about the family history?

But before Silven could keep thinking, a hand reached over.

"Hello, Silven. I think there's been some misunderstanding between us." Draco Malfoy stepped forward on his own initiative, but by now the wariness had vanished from his eyes.

"There is a bit of a misunderstanding, yes." Facing a Malfoy who was actively extending an olive branch, Silven no longer pretended he hadn't seen him. The two shook hands briefly.

"Let me make one thing clear — I didn't lay a hand on anyone at Flourish and Blotts."

"What?" Malfoy seemed to recall the scene from that day, and his expression immediately became hard to hold together. "Of course, I know. It was all those stupid Weasleys, relying on their numbers — a shameless pack of degenerates."

It was plain to see that he still cared a great deal about what had happened at Flourish and Blotts that day.

There had been far too many Weasleys, and with Potter as an accomplice that made it five against two. Draco had felt countless feet landing on him; he had never taken such a terrible beating.

Now that Silven had brought the matter up again, Draco naturally had nothing nice to say. His curses grew filthier and filthier, and his emotions grew more and more heated.

"The Weasleys, and Potter — I'll make them pay!"

"Keep quiet!" Madam Pince, appearing suddenly, cut off Malfoy's grand declaration.

"No noise in the library. If you can't manage that, get out!" she said, at the same time setting five books of varying thickness down in front of Silven.

"These are the books you wanted."

"Thank you, Madam Pince." Silven said. He glanced at Draco Malfoy one more time, shrugged, and left the library with his books in his arms.

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

Because there was better entertainment nearby, Gryffindor and Slytherin had started arguing again.

Silven had only just stepped into the Great Hall when he saw Pansy Parkinson and Parvati Patil squaring off in the aisle, swords drawn and bows bent, cursing at each other nonstop.

"Lockshart's class is absolutely awful. I really don't understand why you lot find it interesting… Could it be that Gryffindors' brains are wired differently?"

"Oh? If you don't like it, that only proves you never actually attended his class!" Parvati Patil shot back, her voice crisp and ringing. "I think you're just jealous — jealous that he's a hundred times better than the Malfoy you worship!"

A burst of laughter erupted around them, and a few Gryffindor students even whistled. Pansy Parkinson's face instantly darkened.

"I think you're doing this on purpose!" She took a step forward, her lips trembling violently. "I'd rather listen to Professor Snape lecture on potion recipes for an hour than waste a single minute watching Lockshart preen and pose over there!"

"My choice is the exact opposite of yours." Parvati Patil stepped forward as well.

Silven carefully circled around, tiptoeing to the Gryffindor long table, and sat down next to Neville.

"What's gotten into them?" Silven asked.

"It's because of Defense Against the Dark Arts." Neville had arrived earlier and had happened to witness the entire incident firsthand.

Slytherin had Defense Against the Dark Arts in the morning, together with Ravenclaw, but the student feedback after that class was less than ideal.

It couldn't be called terrible, but it wasn't much better than Quirrell's read-straight-from-the-textbook teaching either.

Compared with Lockshart's fame and everyone's prior expectations, this result was genuinely disappointing to quite a few people. Only a few fanatical admirers insisted it was because it was Lockshart's first class and he simply lacked experience.

Though this explanation was a stretch, most people accepted it.

But after the afternoon class ended, Lockshart's reputation did a complete about-face — he was nearly lifted to the skies by Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students.

At this point, the Slytherins, who had always been at odds with Gryffindor, immediately felt they had been deceived. So, in their anger, the scene in the Great Hall unfolded.

"Weren't Lockshart's two classes the same?" Silven couldn't help asking.

"I don't know." Neville shook his head. "But I heard there were no Cornish pixies in the morning class… Lucky them."

His voice carried undisguised envy.

Silven understood perfectly. After all, in the class just now, Neville was the only one dragged up to the ceiling by the Cornish pixies and nearly broke his leg. It was only natural he didn't like it.

But compared with Neville, Silven was more concerned about something else.

Pansy Parkinson was also a second-year student. If they were all second-years, why were the morning and afternoon Defense Against the Dark Arts classes different?

Had he not yet acquired the Cornish pixies back then? But there were only a few hours between the two — it couldn't be that much of a coincidence, could it?

Or was it because Pansy Parkinson was a Slytherin — Silven never believed Lockshart would prepare separate courses tailored to each house.

Surely it couldn't be because he wanted to put on a big show in front of Harry, the Chosen One.

Just as he was thinking about it, Harry also walked in from outside, and at the same time more and more helpers gathered around Pansy and Parvati.

Silven also spotted Fred and George's figures.

Given the relationship between Gryffindor and Slytherin, they didn't need to know what had happened, nor did they need to figure out who was right or wrong — as long as there was a conflict, they could just blindly side with their own people.

The argument between the two turned into a standoff between the two Houses, and as the numbers grew, more words were spoken.

Silven even heard someone on the Gryffindor side shout loudly:

"In my opinion, the Slytherins don't hate Luohate Sect — they're only interested in the 'Dark Arts' part of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

That single sentence instantly escalated the conflict on the scene.

Every wizard in the Wizarding World knew that Hogwarts absolutely forbade students from learning the Dark Arts, so whether or not the statement was true, no Slytherin student could possibly admit it.

They even had to defend their own honor.

The verbal clash escalated to a physical one in the blink of an eye, and then quickly hurtled toward a magical one.

The students from the other two Houses who were a bit smarter had already taken their dinners and retreated to somewhere farther away… to avoid getting splattered with blood later.

Just as a Slytherin was the first to draw his wand… an earsplitting explosion made everyone instinctively clap their hands over their ears.

Professor McGonagall stood at the door, a wisp of smoke at the tip of her wand just fading away.

"What a splendid performance." She pressed her lips tightly together, and everyone immediately fell silent as cicadas in winter. "Gryffindor and Slytherin each lose fifty points, and the Quidditch pitch is off-limits for two months!"

"No!"

"Professor McGonagall, you can't…"

"As a matter of fact, I can!" Professor McGonagall shot a quick glance at Wood and Slytherin's Montague. "If this punishment still doesn't teach you a lesson…"

"Oh, my, what a lively scene here — has something happened?" Accompanied by a frivolous voice, Gilderoy Lockhart appeared behind Professor McGonagall.

At the same time, he also saw the two groups in the Great Hall squaring off against each other.

"Aha, a clash between students." He said to Professor McGonagall, "Leave it to me, Minerva. I've quelled yeti rampages countless times, and every single time I've resolved them perfectly."

Lockhart chattered on cheerfully, completely unaware that the so-called "rampage" had only broken out because of him.

"That won't be necessary, Professor Lockhart." A vein on Professor McGonagall's forehead seemed to twitch, and she raised her head, her gaze sweeping across the Great Hall like a blade.

"Ah, tonight's stew is really quite good." Fred was the first to sit back down at the Gryffindor table, followed by George and Lee Jordan.

"Yeah, it really is delicious."

Although the Slytherins were dissatisfied, believing Gryffindor was at fault and that Professor McGonagall had no right to strip them of their use of the Quidditch pitch, they didn't dare to go against Professor McGonagall at this moment.

"Let's go." Montague said. "We'll discuss the rest when Professor Snape arrives."

Soon, the Great Hall, which had been on a knife's edge, restored its order.

Having been unable to help, Lockhart seemed a little disappointed. After everyone had sat down, he was still chattering away to Professor McGonagall about how he had quelled yeti rampages.

The more he talked the more enthusiastic he got, completely failing to notice a ghost sneakily appearing right above his head.

"Welcome ceremony, Sparkle-Professor!" Peeves suddenly shrieked and hurled a bag of flour from god-knows-where onto Lockhart's head.

With a poof, Lockhart was entirely enveloped in a white cloud. His carefully groomed golden curls, his playfully tilted wizard hat, and his beloved violet robes were all coated in a thick layer of flour, making him look like… a yeti.

"Pfft." No one knew who started it, but then the entire Great Hall erupted in laughter.

"Ooh! Look at Peeves's masterpiece!" Among them, Peeves's voice was the loudest. "You're now the whitest professor at Hogwarts — whiter than a ghost, whiter than a yeti, whiter than your teeth…"

"Peeves!" Professor McGonagall shouted sharply, though the corner of her mouth twitched suspiciously. "Leave the Great Hall at once."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall!" Peeves did a somersault in the air and scurried off cackling.

"A-are you all right, Professor Lockhart." Professor McGonagall glanced at the unidentified creature beside her, the corner of her mouth twitching again, though she quickly suppressed it, and said:

"Just now, when Peeves came in, I happened to be looking elsewhere and didn't warn you in time."

"Ah-ha, I actually… noticed that naughty little thing long ago." Lockhart opened his mouth, and another puff of smoke blew out as he spoke.

He forced the corners of his mouth into an arc, his voice trembling noticeably. "An ambush of this level is far too obvious, isn't it… but I felt the moment called for a bit of laughter…"

But surprisingly, even in such an embarrassing predicament, he still remembered to flash his sparkling teeth.

……

(End of chapter)