Midnight Howls and a Weakened Silvan

Many things happened on Christmas night.

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

Second, the castle was exceptionally lively that night. It was said that someone had broken into the Restricted Section of the library, causing shrill, blood-curdling screams to echo from there throughout the latter half of the night.

Filch searched the castle like a madman for the culprit, but after a whole night of toil, he hadn't caught a glimpse of a single soul, as if the person didn't exist at all.

Even the ghosts, who were everywhere in the castle, hadn't the slightest clue.

By the next day, the incident had become one of the topics the ghosts used to chat and pass the time.

Nearly Headless Nick, along with the Fat Friar and Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore of the Headless Hunt, gathered before a platter of rotting, pungent cheese pudding to speculate on the identity of the mysterious intruder.

After all, evading Filch was no great feat, but managing to remain unseen by both ghosts and portraits was truly extraordinary.

"It must be those two Weasleys from your house. They constantly break school rules; perhaps they've mastered some secret passage no one else knows about," Sir Patrick said, passing his head through the cheese as if that counted as having eaten.

Nick had envied Sir Patrick's ability to detach his head entirely for centuries.

Hearing this, Nick's eyes lit up.

"It certainly isn't the Weasley brothers," he said. "Patrick, want to know why? I'll tell you if you agree to let me join the Headless Hunt."

"I have plenty of time to uncover the truth, Nick," Sir Patrick said, adjusting the angle of his head with his hand and smiling. "And I've said it many times: the Headless Hunt only accepts ghosts whose heads are completely separated from their bodies."

"Don't be like that," Nearly Headless Nick pleaded. "My neck was struck forty-five times, and it was only half an inch away from coming off completely... I dream of joining the Headless Hunt."

"I must correct you, Nick—ghosts do not dream!"

"..."

The chat ended unpleasantly, with Nearly Headless Nick and Sir Patrick both storming off, leaving only the Fat Friar sitting there.

He seemed to have anticipated this outcome and felt no surprise at all.

They were always like this, arguing endlessly over that half-inch and never tiring of it. The ghosts were long used to the fact that they would surely start bickering again the next time they met.

However, from the snippets of conversation, the Fat Friar had found a new clue.

First, the Weasley brothers, who were the most likely suspects, could be ruled out. Nick seemed to have verified this, and as the representative ghost of Gryffindor, his word was quite reliable.

However, according to the Fat Lady's portrait, someone had passed by her the previous night, so Gryffindor remained the primary suspect.

Furthermore, Nick had mentioned earlier that the lights in the Gryffindor dormitory had stayed on until dawn, with strange noises coming from within from time to time.

It was unclear if that had anything to do with the incident.

The following night, the ghosts, assuming the library screamer would strike again, kept watch near the library.

Filch thought the same.

But unfortunately, the entire night passed without them seeing a single shadow, and the library remained perfectly quiet.

Then came the third day.

There was some progress that night; someone appeared on the second floor, but it was Dumbledore, the Headmaster, with something floating beside him.

It was large, looking like a mirror or a board of some kind, covered by a velvet cloth so that nothing could be seen.

Filch was deeply disappointed, but he certainly wouldn't dare arrest the Headmaster and put him in detention, so he could only walk away sullenly.

For the remainder of the Christmas holidays, no one approached the second-floor library at night. The castle seemed to return to its usual peace, and everything appeared no different than before.

No, that wasn't quite right.

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

Silvan hadn't appeared for a long time. Whether on the grounds, the Quidditch pitch, or in the common room, he was nowhere to be seen, as if he had vanished into thin air.

Or perhaps he had snuck out of Hogwarts through a secret passage.

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

Another night, Fred and George timed it perfectly and finally caught Silvan as he hurried toward the Great Hall.

"It sure wasn't easy to find you!"

"Tell us, what have you been up to, being so secretive lately!"

The two flanked Silvan. Fred was about to say more, but when he looked up, he saw the dark circles under Silvan's eyes and his pale, chapped lips.

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

After devouring five pieces of toast, three sausages, a whole roast chicken, two sandwiches, and a large bottle of Pumpkin Juice, Silvan's complexion finally looked a bit better.

Although the dark circles remained, he at least didn't look quite as weak.

"What on earth is wrong with you?" George couldn't help but ask. "You look like you haven't eaten in a whole day."

"It's not like I haven't..." Silvan shook his head. "I actually haven't eaten in a day."

"Has Hogwarts banned you from the Great Hall during the day?" Fred didn't understand.

"Not at all," Silvan shook his head. "I've just been doing my homework, and I've been so focused that I keep losing track of time."

"You should save that for Quirrell," Fred sneered. "Maybe he'd be so moved he'd give Gryffindor two points."

"And you can only fool Quirrell, because no one else would wrap their head in a stupid scarf," George added.

"Fine, I'm actually making a wand," Silvan said.

"Great, you can add Filch to the list this time," Fred glanced at him. "You don't think we don't know anything, do you?"

"Guide to Wand Making and Usage, it's in the school library," George said. "We've calculated that, excluding the necessary preparations, it shouldn't take more than an hour to make a wand."

"It surely doesn't take you that long, right?"

"If it were a normal wand, maybe ten minutes?" Silvan thought for a moment.

"Exactly," Fred leaned in. "You say you're making a wand, but you've been in the dormitory all day. Isn't that a contradiction?"

Silvan scratched his hair. He was telling the truth this time.

Besides, he hadn't been in the dormitory for just one day, but ten. Ever since Christmas, he had been struggling with that wand.

It was too hard. Although the Troll Spine had been shrunk to about two feet, its mass hadn't changed at all. For Silvan, embedding it completely into the wand core and filling every single rune was undoubtedly a dual test of technique and physical strength.