Chapter 99: Wait Until He Finishes Vomiting and It'll Stop on Its Own

Silven hadn't expected that Harry would actually go up to Madam Pince and solemnly propose the idea of staying in the library for a while.

Of course, that was obviously impossible; Madam Pince refused without a second thought, and even suggested Harry pay a visit to the school hospital.

After all, any person with a shred of sanity wouldn't leave a comfortable dormitory empty to come sleep in the library.

Harry was rather helpless about it too. If Colin hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor and wasn't always waiting in the common room, he definitely wouldn't have wanted to live in the library.

"If it really won't work, go find Hagrid," Silven said. "Play it up a bit when you explain things—maybe he'll agree to set up a bed for you in his cabin."

"Forget it, I was only joking." Harry shook his head as he spoke. Mainly, pretending to be a werewolf was just too exhausting, and Malfoy's constant, ever-present mockery was wearing him down too. That was why, upon seeing Colin, he'd impulsively blurted out to Madam Pince, "Could I live in the library?"

"Honestly, I really wish Lockhart could teach me how to talk to my own admirers," Harry said half-jokingly. "Best of all, he could talk Colin out of the idea of taking a photo of me every day."

"Then you really don't understand Lockhart—he'd be thrilled if someone was willing to take his picture," Silven said. "And Lockhart also sets aside at least five hours a day to reply to his admirers' letters."

"Every day?" Harry couldn't help raising his voice. "Five hours?"

"At least five hours," Silven nodded. "That's what he says, anyway."

At this, Harry actually felt a bit of admiration for Lockhart. If he had to spend five hours a day writing letters, he'd definitely go mad. Thinking of it that way, Colin—who only liked saying hello—didn't seem quite so annoying anymore.

Even pretending to be a monster was no longer so hard to accept... Hmm, if only Hermione could use a different spell, he felt the color of his robes had already faded a little.

"Harry, so you're here."

Just as he was thinking that, Hermione came running over from a distance. She looked terribly nervous, and the moment she saw him she babbled:

"Ron told me you were a bit upset... I'm sorry, Harry, are you all right...?"

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said.

"That's good." Hermione said softly, "I'm sorry, I got too worked up at the time and didn't think it through. I thought those spells wouldn't hurt you."

"Of course they wouldn't; I'm not about to be hurt by a Scourgify," Harry said with a smile. "Thanks to you, I haven't needed to do laundry these past few days."

Seeing that he could still joke around, Hermione finally set her mind completely at ease.

Soon Ron arrived too, and the three of them went to the Great Hall for dinner together. This time Harry was lucky—he didn't run into Lockhart, and he didn't run into Colin either.

……

The next day, a weekend, Silven had originally planned to go visit Hagrid with Harry and the others, but three barks he heard from a great distance made him immediately abandon the idea.

Because those were three different kinds of barks. After ruling out the possibility that Fang had three different vocal ranges, that could only mean one dog had three heads.

"Mm... you all go on ahead, I just remembered I have some other things to take care of," Silven said. Without waiting for the three to react, he turned and headed back toward the castle.

Last time the three-headed dog chased him might have been because of Dark magic, but he couldn't rule out that it really did have such an idea... So he'd better find another time to visit Hagrid.

Back in the castle, Silven went to his most familiar haunt—the library. From morning to noon he sat there, ate a little something, then sat again from noon until afternoon, and afterward jotted down the parts he didn't understand and went to find Professor McGonagall.

By the time Silven came out of Professor McGonagall's office, it was already very dark outside.

Not bad—another fulfilling day.

Silven stretched and headed toward the Great Hall. When he saw the dejected Gryffindor ghost by the corridor, he even went over to comfort him with a few words.

"Nick, I don't think it's your problem. Those Headless Hunt fellows' aesthetic standards are way too rigid."

The way he looked, Silven didn't need to guess to know he'd been rejected by the Headless Hunt again—once a year, it had almost become a fixed event at Hogwarts.

"You think I look no different from them too, don't you?" Nearly Headless Nick instantly grew agitated. "Just because I'm missing less than half an inch of skin and gristle, they've rejected me forty-nine times!"

Silven felt it was more than that. The Headless Hunt seemed to have been around for a very long time, and combined with the way Nick held a grudge about this, it was probably a long-standing feud...

Maybe Nick only remembered forty-nine times.

Silven tried patting his arm; the sensation was like plunging his hand into ice water.

"Don't give up. I believe you'll succeed one day."

"Thank you, I'll take that as a good omen," Nearly Headless Nick said. "Oh, by the way, I just saw a few Gryffindor students fighting with someone by the Black Lake—do you want to go take a look... Oh, I told you I had other things to do."

Before Silven could speak, Nearly Headless Nick suddenly shouted, "I came back to the castle to find Minerva—if not, the students will be at a disadvantage against Severus... Damn that Patrick Delaney, handing me the letter at a time like this!"

Then he plunged headfirst into the wall beside him and vanished.

By this time, Silven had also come to his senses and was already heading downstairs.

Only, just as he reached the second floor, a silver tabby cat landed lightly on the railing beside him, then with a gentle leap dropped to the first floor and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Obviously, that tabby cat was almost certainly Professor McGonagall's Animagus form. The place where he'd run into Nick was right outside Professor McGonagall's office, and Nick was a ghost—saying he could find her with a single turn was no exaggeration.

But having to admit it, being able to perform Animagus transformation was really convenient. Professor McGonagall's tabby cat was practically treating the floors like staircases, moving at an astonishing speed.

By the time Silven finally ran out of the castle, he spotted the two groups by the Black Lake at a glance.

Among them, Snape was the most conspicuous—face ashen, looking as though he might explode at any moment. Malfoy stood beside him, head lowered, shoulders heaving.

His two henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle, one clutching his head, the other clutching his arm, stood groaning a little farther away.

Facing them stood Harry, Ron, and Hermione, along with Professor McGonagall, who had just arrived.

The moment she was out of the castle she had changed back, and she strode over.

"Can someone tell me what's happened!"

"It was him, Professor McGonagall!" Ron's face flushed red, pointing at Malfoy. "He called Hermione... he called Hermione a..."

"Mudblood." Hermione spoke up first. "I don't know what it means. Of course, I can tell it's extremely rude."

"It's more than rude," Ron panted. "It's the most insulting thing he could think of."

"Mudblood..." At the word, Professor McGonagall's face instantly frosted over, and she snapped her gaze toward Malfoy.

Just then...

"Bleeeagh!"

Malfoy's shoulders heaved again, and several large, fat slugs—trailing something that was either slime or saliva—fell from his mouth onto the ground.

At that moment, the words Professor McGonagall had been about to say turned over in her mouth and went back in, and in the end she said nothing.

Professor McGonagall's gaze lifted and settled on the other two.

Apart from Malfoy vomiting slugs, Crabbe and Goyle had also sustained injuries of varying degrees—though whether caused by magic or by fists was unclear.

Probably magic... Professor McGonagall compared the physiques of both sides and thought to herself.

As for their side, the three of them were fine, though Ron's robes had a bit of dirt on them.

"Gryffindor loses thirty points," Professor McGonagall said. "And detention for the three of you."

"But Professor, Malfoy was the one who spoke rudely first." Ron still seemed a little indignant, muttering as he spoke.

"Slytherin loses ten points," Professor McGonagall continued. "Mr. Malfoy, I hope you understand that some things cannot be said in school, and that this represents the most basic cultivation of a wizard."

"Bleaaagh… mmh…" Malfoy had only just opened his mouth to speak when another slug jumped out.

Professor McGonagall simply ignored him and looked at Snape, as if asking for his opinion.

"I'll handle the detention," Snape said.

"Of course," Professor McGonagall nodded.

"I hope… you… will remember today's lesson," Snape said, drawing out his words, then turned and walked away.

"Wait, Professor." Crabbe hurriedly called out to him. "Draco, he's still vomiting slugs…"

"I can see that, Mr. Crabbe," Snape said. "Don't worry, once he's done throwing them up, it'll stop on its own."

……

(End of chapter)