Midnight Screams and Silvan's Weakness

A lot happened on Christmas night.

First, Hagrid had dinner with everyone in the Great Hall for the first time, and Silvan received a special gift because of it.

Second, the castle was unusually lively that night. Apparently, someone had broken into the Restricted Section of the library, and for the rest of the night, bloodcurdling screams kept ringing out from inside.

Filch searched the castle like a madman for the culprit, but he spent the whole night at it without seeing a single soul, as if the person didn't even exist.

Even the ghosts, who were everywhere in the castle, had no clue.

By the next day, the incident had become one of the ghosts' favorite topics of conversation.

Nearly Headless Nick joined the Fat Friar and Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore of the Headless Hunt in front of a plate of rotten, stinking cheese pudding, trying to guess who the mysterious intruder was.

After all, evading Filch wasn't much of an achievement. It took real skill to avoid being seen by both the ghosts and the portraits.

"It must've been those two Weasley boys from your house. They break the rules all the time. Maybe they've found some secret passage no one else knows about," Sir Patrick said, carrying his head through the cheese as though that counted as eating it.

Nick had been envious for centuries of Sir Patrick's ability to take his whole head off.

Hearing this, Nick's eyes lit up.

"It definitely wasn't the Weasley brothers," he said. "Patrick, want to know why? Just agree to let me join the Headless Hunt, and I'll tell you."

"I've got all the time in the world to find out the truth, Nick." Sir Patrick adjusted the angle of his head with one hand and smiled. "Besides, I've told you plenty of times: the Headless Hunt only accepts ghosts whose heads are completely severed from their bodies."

"Don't be like that," Nearly Headless Nick pleaded. "My neck was hacked at forty-five times. It was only half an inch from coming off completely... I've dreamed of joining the Headless Hunt."

"I must correct you, Nick. Ghosts don't dream!"

"..."

The chat ended on a sour note. Nearly Headless Nick and Sir Patrick stormed off, leaving only the Fat Friar sitting there.

He seemed to have expected this all along and wasn't surprised in the least.

They were always like this, arguing endlessly over half an inch and enjoying every minute of it. When they met again, they'd surely start fighting all over again. The ghosts were used to it by now.

Still, the Fat Friar had picked up a new clue from their brief conversation.

First, the most likely suspects, the Weasley brothers, could be ruled out. Nick seemed to have confirmed that already, and as Gryffindor's representative ghost, he was fairly reliable.

But according to the Fat Lady's portrait, someone had passed in front of her last night, so Gryffindor was still the most likely suspect.

Besides, Nick had said earlier that the lights in the Gryffindor dormitory had stayed on until the early hours, and strange noises had occasionally come from inside.

He wondered if it had anything to do with the incident.

The following night, the ghosts thought the person behind the library screams would strike again, so they gathered around the library to keep watch.

Filch thought the same.

Unfortunately, the whole night passed without them seeing a soul, and the library remained completely quiet.

Then came the third night.

That night, they did get something: someone appeared on the second floor, but it was Headmaster Dumbledore, with some unidentified object floating beside him.

It was huge and looked like a mirror or a wooden board. A piece of velvet cloth covered it, hiding whatever was underneath.

Filch was terribly disappointed, but he certainly didn't dare lock the headmaster up in detention. He could only walk away in frustration.

For the rest of the Christmas holidays, no one else went near the second-floor library at night. The castle seemed to have returned to its usual peace, and everything looked just as it had before.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

Fred and George suddenly realized that they seemed to be missing someone.

Silvan hadn't been seen for a long time. He was nowhere to be found on the grounds, at the Quidditch Pitch, or in the common room. It was as if he'd vanished.

Or perhaps he'd secretly left Hogwarts through a hidden passage.

Fortunately, George discovered that Silvan still appeared in the Great Hall for ten minutes every night, which cleared him of sneaking out of school.

The next evening, Fred and George timed it just right and finally caught Silvan hurrying toward the entrance to the Great Hall.

"You're not easy to find!"

"Come on, tell us what you've been up to lately!"

They cornered Silvan from both sides. Fred was just about to say more when he looked up and saw the dark circles under Silvan's eyes and his pale, chapped lips.

"Merlin's beard!" Fred cried. Forgetting all about his curiosity, he and George helped Silvan into the Great Hall.

After eating five slices of toast, three sausages, a whole roast chicken, two sandwiches, and a large bottle of Pumpkin Juice, Silvan finally looked a little better.

The dark circles were still there, but at least he no longer looked quite so weak.

"What's wrong with you, anyway?" George couldn't hold back any longer. "You look like you haven't eaten all day."

"It's not just how I look..." Silvan shook his head. "I haven't eaten all day."

"Has Hogwarts banned you from coming to the Great Hall during the day?" Fred asked, baffled.

"Not exactly." Silvan shook his head. "I've just been doing homework and getting so absorbed in it that I keep losing track of time."

"You can save that story for Quirrell," Fred said with a sneer. "Maybe he'll be so touched that he'll give Gryffindor two points."

"And Quirrell's the only one you could fool, because nobody else would wrap their head in a stupid scarf," George said.

"Fine. Actually, I've been making a wand," Silvan said.

"Good. You can add Filch to the list." Fred glanced at him. "You didn't think we wouldn't know anything, did you?"

"There's a Guide to Wand Making and Usage in the school library," George said. "We worked it out. Even with the necessary preparation, making a wand shouldn't take more than an hour."

"You can't possibly need that long, can you?"

"If it's a normal wand, about ten minutes?" Silvan thought it over.

"Exactly." Fred leaned closer. "You say you're making a wand, but you've been in your dormitory all day. Doesn't that contradict itself?"

Silvan scratched his head. This time, he really was telling the truth.

Besides, he hadn't spent a whole day in his dormitory. He'd spent ten days there. Ever since Christmas, he'd been struggling with that wand.

It was too hard. Though the Troll Spine had been shortened to about two feet, its weight hadn't changed at all. For Silvan, fitting it completely into the wand shaft and filling every Ancient Rune was a test of both skill and stamina.