Pale yellow carpet, bright lights, as usual.
If you wanted to place, cultivate, or make something, this was the perfect spot.
No one could disturb you here.
Looking around the empty room, Glenn snapped his fingers.
The next moment, eight small flowerpots appeared almost out of thin air on the left side of the hall.
Quite magical.
The only drawback was that the room provided equipment, but not things like soil or fertilizer.
But that wasn't much of a problem.
Professor Sprout had given him permission to take whatever he needed from Greenhouse One whenever he wanted.
At the thought, Glenn couldn't help the corners of his mouth from turning up.
A few days ago, during a private Potions Class, Professor Snape had probably assumed he wouldn't need much Horklump Juice on his own, so he'd let Glenn use as much as he wanted.
The result was that all the cold Horklump Juice had turned into warm Invigorating Potion.
But that was fine. It wasn't a waste, after all. Using ingredients for their intended purpose was the best way to get value from them.
Professor Snape, as a Potions teacher, would surely understand.
With that thought, Glenn drew his wand and tapped his little pouch.
Soil tumbled out of a compartment he'd made for himself, filling every empty flowerpot.
The next moment, eight Dittany fruits followed, dropping onto the surface of the soil in the pots.
In an instant, fine cracks appeared on the fruit's skin.
"But it still feels like something's missing," Glenn murmured.
Right. It needed light!
As the thought crossed his mind, the ceiling above the flowerpots gradually turned hazy and transparent.
A ray of warm sunlight shone down on the cool soil.
When night fell, it would turn into pale moonlight, falling on the soil that nurtured life.
That would do.
After leaving the Room of Requirement, Glenn checked the time. It was just about mealtime.
Nothing was more important than eating.
He turned the corner and returned to the corridor where he'd placed his portrait.
Because of Sir Cadogan's usual "knightly conduct," most students would rather take the long way around than get stuck with the gallant knight.
So the corridor leading straight to the dining hall was unusually quiet, and no one noticed the small picture frame hanging beside Sir Cadogan's portrait.
"Come on, let's fight again!" Sir Cadogan's voice rang out once more, as loud as ever, though a little hoarse this time.
Looking at the battered knight hanging upside down from his pony, Glenn stood outside the frame in silence.
"Why didn't you use a Sleeping Charm?"
At that, the "Glenn" in the picture frame shrugged.
"I did, but he fell asleep and started yelling something about 'battle, courage, and the spirit of chivalry.' He was back on his feet, all worked up, seconds later. There wasn't much I could do. I couldn't exactly kill him, could I? Or you could find an empty frame, and we could carry his corpse out."
"Couldn't you just burn him on the spot?"
"No, the smell would be too strong. Someone would notice. The headmasters' portraits are nearby, unless I got rid of all of them first."
After thinking it over, Glenn shook his head and abandoned the idea.
He hadn't traveled all this way to return to Hogwarts as a new student just to burn the headmasters' portraits.
"But if I get the chance, I could try knocking Headmaster Black out from behind..."
"Of course." The "Glenn" in the frame looked as if that went without saying.
Then he turned and walked away.
"Come back! Don't be a coward!" Sir Cadogan shouted, struggling upright on his pony.
Putting away his empty picture frame, Glenn looked at the knight, whose eyes were blazing with fury. "Take a rest, Sir Cadogan."
"A true knight has no need of rest!" Sir Cadogan declared, gripping his sword, which was full of cracks.
When the stubborn old knight said that, it meant he'd latched onto his opponent.
Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Glenn would probably have to put up with Sir Cadogan challenging him every day.
Still, there was a way around it—some clever wording, for instance.
"Likewise, a true knight wouldn't force someone to fight an injured old man," Glenn said seriously. "Unless he's far less noble than he thinks he is."
"Sir, I hope our duel will be a noble and fair one, not a dishonorable attack on someone who's down."
At that, Sir Cadogan, who'd been full of fighting spirit just moments earlier, froze. He looked down at his battered appearance and murmured, "Ah, yes. I suppose so..."
For a medieval knight, nothing was more cutting than being told he wasn't noble enough.
"Don't be disheartened, Sir. Next time I come here, I'll accept your challenge and fight you again...but only on the condition that you don't tell anyone about our noble duel."
At that, Sir Cadogan regained some of his usual vigor and agreed almost without a second thought.
But Glenn continued, "What will you swear by to prove you won't break your word?"
Perhaps he'd been waiting a long time to hear those words. The badly defeated Sir Cadogan suddenly grew excited and solemn. Despite his pain, he straightened his chest inside the frame.
"By my honor as a Knight of the Round Table." He proudly gave a knightly salute as he spoke.
Glenn returned the salute, then turned and left the corridor, which had quieted down again.
Now that they'd gone this far, Sir Cadogan wouldn't utter a word about it to anyone, even if threatened with his life—though threatening a portrait with its life sounded strange in the first place.
"You don't look sick," Blaise said, eyeing Glenn in the dining hall.
"Don't tell me you bought something from the Weasley twins?"
It was an unwritten rule among Hogwarts students.
If you wanted to skip class by pretending to be ill, Fred and George, the resident pranksters, were the best people to go to.
For a small fee, they could give you a remarkably convincing illness.
"Of course not." Glenn took a bite of bread. "Couldn't I have recovered?"
"Then you must have an impressive constitution," Blaise said, clearly unconvinced.
If it were him, getting excused from Professor McGonagall's class wouldn't be easy. He'd at least need a note from the Hospital Wing.
And what was more ridiculous was that even though Glenn hadn't gone to class today, the homework he'd turned in had still earned Slytherin three points.
At the thought, Blaise's mind wandered back to Halloween night. Glenn had said he was going for a walk, and when he returned, he'd earned twenty points.
He was practically a "ruthless point-earning machine." He wandered here and there, and Slytherin's score kept climbing...
"By the way, do you know a way to get into the Forbidden Forest?"
At Glenn's question, Blaise's thoughts failed to catch up. "You can earn points by sneaking into the Forbidden Forest?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized what he'd said and gave an awkward little cough. "Sorry, I was distracted. Are you planning to sneak into the Forbidden Forest?"
"Of course—not. That would break the school rules." Glenn finished the last bite of bread in his hand, sounding perfectly natural.
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