Only after finally coaxing Colin Creevey away did Robert finally take his first bite of beef pasty.
"Robert, did you go to Lockhart's office?" Ron suddenly leaned over and asked.
"No, why?"
"Nothing, I just heard that Lockhart was standing at his office door all morning like a specimen."
"He wasn't a specimen!" Hermione said irritably, "Professor Lockhart was just waiting for an important guest."
"He was indeed quite important," Ron muttered softly, "Everyone said he was dressed like a peacock."
"That was dress robes!" Hermione said sharply, "They are only worn on important occasions and are the highest form of respect for a guest."
Robert cut another piece of pasty. He seemed to know who Lockhart was waiting for. If there were no surprises, it should be Rita Skeeter.
That also suggested that the person who informed The Daily Prophet must have been Lockhart—he really couldn't resist the temptation of being on the front page.
But why would Rita Skeeter come looking for him first?
He was just a wandmaker—someone who played with wood and magical creatures, as Skeeter had once mockingly written. He wasn't completely unknown, but his most "notable" accomplishments included accidentally dismantling the dormitory twice. Sure, he had a bit of notoriety among students, but he couldn't compare to Lockhart at all.
So why had Rita Skeeter deliberately blocked the corridor on the second floor, as if she knew in advance that he would exit the Hogwarts Library?
Tom Riddle?
The name popped into Robert's mind without warning, deepening his suspicion of Lockhart. But if Lockhart was involved, why would he be waiting at his office door?
Robert sighed. A good wand core was rare, but Tom Riddle constantly playing tricks was equally frustrating.
What annoyed him more was that many things might be Riddle's doing, but he couldn't be sure.
Robert couldn't help but grumble mentally about Dumbledore. How long had it been? Couldn't the man even find a student holding the diary?
If worst came to worst, maybe he should just tell Harry.
With Harry's bravery and instinct, he'd surely break through layer after layer of confusion and uncover both the Basilisk and the diary.
Well… maybe not. Robert suddenly remembered Harry's permanently sleepy face.
He already felt guilty for pushing Colin Creevey onto Harry again. Getting him involved in dangerous activities like the Chamber of Secrets or the Basilisk? Probably not the best idea.
Better to wait a bit longer. Maybe Tom Riddle wasn't behind it at all. Maybe that note just contained a special kind of magic—like something that scared the reader by making them automatically write a terrifying line.
There were many strange magical phenomena like that at Hogwarts.
…
Although he told himself that, after lunch Robert still found an excuse to visit Lockhart's office.
Just as Ron had said, Lockhart today truly resembled a peacock.
His forget-me-not blue dress robes were embroidered with elaborate patterns that formed a large "GL"—his initials. The cuffs had intricate pleats, each adorned with a sparkling amethyst. A golden lace collar completed the ensemble. Robert couldn't make sense of the design—maybe it was in fashion?
After all, he hadn't been to a proper clothing store in ages… not counting the time he bought his school robes.
"Oh—it's Robert." A flash of disappointment crossed Lockhart's face, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by an overly enthusiastic smile. "Coming for another autograph? You really are the greediest student I've ever met, but it's okay—who could refuse to give their admirers a little special treatment?"
As he spoke, Lockhart had already pulled out a large peacock feather quill.
"Not a book this time, Professor," Robert tried to hide his distaste for the quill.
That quill was truly hideous—more flamboyant than even a Quick-Quotes Quill and absurdly overpriced. Robert doubted anyone other than Lockhart would ever purchase one.
"I want to borrow three books, but they're in the Restricted Section," Robert said, placing a piece of parchment on the desk. "So I need a professor's signature."
Lockhart glanced at it.
"Talking Books: Advanced Curse Guide, Singing Silverware and Talking Diaries, Dangerous Human Transfiguration," he read aloud. "Isn't it a bit early for you to be exposed to this kind of material?"
His hand, still holding the quill, paused slightly. His gaze lingered on the word "Curse."
"Why not go to Minerva?"
"I think you know more about Curses than Professor McGonagall," Robert said, watching his expression closely. "In Break with a Banshee, you used ginger root powder to dissolve the Curse of the Wailing Banshee."
"Ah, yes, that's right. Break with a Banshee is probably my favorite of all my books," Lockhart beamed, and with a flourish, he signed his name across the parchment.
"I have to warn you, don't do anything naughty."
"Of course not, Professor," Robert replied smoothly.
Once outside, he promptly tore off the top two book titles from the parchment.
Those books didn't exist in the Restricted Section at all; he had made them up.
Even so, Lockhart hadn't shown any noticeable reaction—maybe Robert was overthinking it.
At the library, he handed the remaining parchment to Madam Pince.
"Dangerous Human Transfiguration?" she looked at him suspiciously, then eyed Lockhart's florid signature with even more suspicion. After a moment, she said:
"More Transfiguration. Wait here."
Apparently, the signature passed.
The Transfiguration magazines Robert had been reading recently mentioned the book frequently, and opinions were remarkably consistent. Although it was explicitly labeled a highly dangerous text, the Human Transfiguration theories inside were exceptionally respected in academic circles.
Robert had wanted to read it for some time, but Professor McGonagall wouldn't allow it. This time, thanks to Lockhart, he finally had access.
A few minutes later, Robert left the library with a thick red-covered book in hand.
Back in the common room, Ron, as usual, was struggling with homework.
"Why is it still eight inches short? I calculated it perfectly!"
"Then just write bigger," Harry said helpfully.
"It's already almost as big as a Knut," Ron groaned.
"Harry?" Robert said in surprise. Harry was actually here? Doing nothing?
Had Oliver Wood finally been captured by Dementors for overworking his team?
"The match is tomorrow," Harry explained. "Oliver gave us a day off, said we needed proper rest. This is the first time I've slept in till seven in days."
Robert could hear the joy in his voice—just because he got to sleep until seven. Ron, next to him, wouldn't be out of bed before eight-thirty on a normal day.
Actually, that was only because the castle stairs took so much time; otherwise, Ron could've easily slept another twenty minutes.
Honestly, Dementors should take Oliver Wood. The guy was way too obsessed with Quidditch.
Just like Lockhart was obsessed with front-page headlines.
"But you don't look relaxed at all," Robert noted as he sat down.
Harry's face was all scrunched up, his whole body tense. It looked like he was working on homework, but his parchment was completely blank.
Ron's… well, never mind. His Potions essay didn't even treat Snape like a human being. Submitting a blank sheet might have lost fewer points.
"Is the opponent strong tomorrow?" Robert asked casually.
"Slytherin," Harry said grimly. "They're not better than us, but they've all got Nimbus 2001s. It'll be hard to win."
"I told you," Robert tempted, "You should turn the broom into a wand. Want to try? Give me one night, and I'll return you a brand-new Nimbus 2000."
"Still no thanks," Harry refused with a dry laugh.
Never mind if that violated match rules—he couldn't even be sure the broom would fly after Robert modified it.
But Robert didn't see that as a problem at all.
The Quidditch rules said wands couldn't be used during matches. They didn't say you couldn't turn a broom into one. Technically, a magical broom that cast spells wasn't even a wand.
Seeing Robert preparing another persuasive pitch, Harry quickly changed the subject. "What book is that?"
"Oh, one I just borrowed from the library," Robert said. "Want to read it?"
"No thanks," Harry said immediately.
"What a pity," Robert said. "It's usually hard to get this one. Requires a professor's signature."
Harry didn't care. He already had enough trouble finishing required reading. There was no time for extracurricular books.
"Are you coming to the match tomorrow?" Harry asked. "Last year, I think you were the only Gryffindor who didn't come."
"Who said that? I definitely went," Robert retorted. "I even remember you catching the Snitch in five minutes."
Truth be told, Robert wasn't all that interested in Quidditch. After watching that match last year, he didn't find it exciting.
But this year, he'd definitely go.
Because almost everyone would go—the students, the professors, the ghosts. That meant the entire castle would be empty.
And Robert didn't think that was particularly safe.
Sure, the chances were low… but what if the Basilisk came out again? He couldn't exactly petrify himself to avoid it. If someone used a Blasting Curse on him by mistake, he'd be a pile of wand chips.
So yes—better to stick with the crowd this time.
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