After the arrival of October, Hogwarts entered its rainiest season. How rainy was it? Let's put it this way: Robert actually saw his pet cat Tom in the common room.
That was rare! Robert had almost thought the cat had moved permanently into the Forbidden Forest. He never expected it to willingly come out. The non-stop downpour over the past few days must have finally driven it back indoors.
Since it was such a rare encounter, Robert walked over and gave Tom a head rub. The cat's head was round and plump—he looked even fatter than last year.
"Is the food in the Forbidden Forest that good?" Robert poked Tom's belly again, and in return received a solid slap on the arm.
"Fine, don't let me touch you, you stingy thing." Robert stood up and left the common room.
Outside, in the corridor, Oliver Wood was animatedly talking with a few Quidditch players.
"I just asked Professor McGonagall, and she said we can apply to use the Quidditch pitch after Halloween!"
Wood's eyes sparkled as he spoke. The other teams were excited too, though not quite as wildly as he was.
To be honest, training in the current weather was nothing short of torment. They'd seen how miserable the Hufflepuff team looked during practice the day before—covered in mud and water. Half of them had caught colds, and wherever they went that morning, they trailed faint wisps of white smoke.
That was the effect of the Pepper-Up Potion Madam Pomfrey had given them. It worked wonders on colds, but the side effect was a bit embarrassing—steam came out of your ears.
Fred and George Weasley even felt lucky not to be training in this dreadful weather. But hopefully, it wouldn't rain non-stop past Halloween, right?
Hard to say. This was already the last weekend before Halloween.
Robert didn't interrupt their conversation. He hugged the wall and made his way carefully downstairs toward the library.
For some reason, he felt increasingly nervous. The closer it got to Halloween, the more uneasy he became.
His mind drifted again to the missing diary. Was it still inside Hogwarts Castle?
Initially, he had suspected Lockhart. The man's behavior was far too odd. Who would have thought that even this far into the term, he'd still be so popular among the students?
Robert also remembered something else—Lockhart had been at Flourish and Blotts during the incident. It was possible he had taken the diary.
So Robert took a calculated risk. He brought his own black diary to Lockhart for an autograph.
This diary had been a gift from Hermione on the train. It had nothing to do with Horcruxes—just an ordinary Muggle-made notebook with a black cover, given by Mr. Granger as a thank-you for Robert speaking up on Hermione's behalf.
But just based on appearance, it looked very similar to Riddle's Horcrux diary. That wasn't surprising—Riddle's diary was also a Muggle product. For all Robert knew, it might even be the same model.
While Lockhart signed it with his elegant peacock feather quill, Robert watched him closely, hoping to catch a flicker of surprise or alarm.
Nothing. Lockhart remained completely calm.
Robert casually asked if Lockhart kept a diary.
"I spend six hours a day replying to my fans. Those are my best diaries," Lockhart said cheerfully.
Robert had also checked with Harry. He hadn't heard any strange whispers or seen anything unusual.
Everything in the castle seemed normal.
Robert finally reached the library on the second floor and walked over to the familiar oak table.
It was worth noting that because he often stacked books sky-high, many of the library's regulars had come to recognize Robert by now, and they'd naturally avoid this table out of habit.
Ironically, Robert didn't even like this spot—it was too close to the window and often noisy. But the first time he came to the library, it had been the only seat available. Later, Madam Pince started putting the books he borrowed directly on this table. Over time, it had become unofficially his.
Three hours later, Robert stood up and headed to the Great Hall for lunch.
"If you ask me, you shouldn't have agreed to him."
"But I already said yes."
"Can you still back out?"
"Don't say that. Sir Nicholas has always helped us. Harry definitely can't go back on his word."
Robert heard the familiar voices and, sure enough, spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the Great Hall's entrance.
"I knew it was you guys," Robert said.
"Oh, Robert! It's rare to see you somewhere other than the library," Harry joked.
"I still have to eat," Robert said. "What were you talking about?"
"Don't mention it," Ron groaned. "Harry promised Nearly Headless Nick that he'd go to his 500th Deathday Party."
"Deathday Party?"
"Nearly Headless Nick invited me," Harry said.
Ever since his detention with Snape, Harry hadn't had much of an appetite. But last night, hunger finally got the better of him, and he went looking for food in the common room—only to run into Nick.
Nick told him how to find the kitchens and, after Harry ate his fill, they chatted a bit. That's when Nick brought up the Deathday Party. To express his gratitude, Harry had enthusiastically said he'd go.
Now, he was beginning to regret it.
Ron told him the party would be held in the dungeons—and Harry had a phobia of dungeons. Apart from Potions class, he always avoided them.
"It's okay, I'll just go to the Deathday Party alone," Harry said, trying to sound resolute. "I promised, after all."
"What are you talking about?" Ron protested. "We can't let you go alone with a bunch of ghosts! We'll go together... Ugh, not now. Let's talk somewhere else."
Ron's expression had soured. Malfoy had just entered the Great Hall.
Malfoy didn't look thrilled either.
"Weasley…"
"What? Want to vomit slugs again?" Ron whipped out his wand and twirled it.
Malfoy's eyes went red with fury.
Thankfully, Professor Sprout came in just then, and they all separated.
"I swear, one day I'll make him eat slugs again," Ron muttered. "Even better if I had a Leech Hex."
"You want detention with Snape again?" Hermione shot him a glare.
"Let's go back to the ghost party," she added. "It might be a fascinating experience. I bet few living people have attended one."
"You're wrong," Robert said. "Ghost parties aren't pleasant. Imagine standing in a big refrigerator, surrounded by ghosts who died in the creepiest ways, with rotting food covered in maggots…"
Just the word maggots made Harry and Ron's faces turn green.
Even Hermione looked queasy. It was far from the elegant gathering she had imagined.
"Maybe I'll go find Nick and tell him I can't make it," Harry said, pale.
"Or," Robert offered, "I could go instead."
"Really?" Harry's eyes lit up.
"Yeah," Robert nodded. "If everything goes smoothly…"
He had suddenly thought of something. If a Unicorn could harm a fragment of Voldemort's soul, what about ghosts?
Could a Unicorn still affect a ghost not tied to dark magic, like a Horcrux? He was desperate to find out.
This Deathday Party was the perfect chance. Nearly Headless Nick would likely help him.
And if Unicorns couldn't hurt normal ghosts, what about more sinister ones? Like the Banshee of Banchory that Lockhart kept bragging about—wasn't that a ghost too?
Robert wasn't sure if there were any nearby, but guests from across England would be attending the party. He might be able to gather useful information.
Harry had no idea what Robert was planning. At this point, he looked genuinely touched.
"But what about the Halloween feast?" Hermione asked.
"Of course I'm going," Robert said firmly. "No matter what happens that day, I have to be at the feast. Only afterward can I decide what to do."
"But won't the times overlap?"
"Don't worry. They won't," Robert explained. "Ghosts come alive—so to speak—at night. If you show up too early, it's no fun. And besides, the food there is not for the living. It's best to attend after eating."
Hermione nodded, half-understanding. She hadn't known this, but if Robert said so, it must be true—right?
When they sat down at the table, Fred and George approached, looking thrilled. They dropped a heavy bag onto the table with a dull thud.
"What's this?" Ron peered inside and froze.
Silver Sickles. The whole bag was filled with them, with the occasional Galleon gleaming among them.
"You guys... robbed Gringotts?" Ron gasped.
"Robbing Gringotts doesn't earn this much," George scoffed.
"Don't say that," Robert joked. "Robbing Gringotts still earns more."
The silver coins likely totaled around five hundred Sickles—not even thirty Galleons in total. Selling stickers brought steady income, but it was the dyeing spray that could rake in real money.
That said, it was too expensive, and not many students could afford it.
Robert decided to hold off and wait until the novelty of the stickers wore off.
"You shouldn't have chosen Lockhart," George whispered. "If you'd made a golden Snape sticker, you'd be rolling in Galleons. Those Slytherins are loaded."
"But they're not fools," Robert replied. "If it's too obvious, they won't fall for it."
"Okay, fair," Fred nodded. "What about the dyeing spray? I remember green and silver cost the most. Are you lowering prices?"
"No," Robert said.
Fred and George looked puzzled. Why not?
"It's different."
"How so?"
"The difference between Snape and Slytherin," Robert said. "And the dyeing spray's price is high for a reason. Just one sale can be worth more than two bags like this."
He lifted the bag for emphasis.
"So when are you launching it officially?"
"Not yet," Robert sighed. "I'm not in the mood."
"Relax. No one masters Transfiguration in their second year—not even McGonagall," George said, misunderstanding.
Robert didn't correct him. He just nodded. "I'll find you when it's time."
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