9 Sep 2025
While Robert was absorbed in his studies inside the Little Greenhouse, the ripples of what had happened there soon spread across the castle.
The Hufflepuffs, still basking in the joy of their unprecedented Quidditch victory, were stunned when word reached them: Robert had been sentenced to three weeks of detention because Porgie Chalman was gravely injured during the incident in the greenhouse.
For a moment, the usually calm and cheerfulq Hufflepuff House was in uproar.
"How can this be?"
"What does Robert have to do with it?"
"I've heard of Porgie Chalman—doesn't he write that Herbology column where he criticizes everything under the sun?"
"So now he bungles handling plants in the greenhouse, gets himself hurt, and somehow Robert gets punished for it?"
"This is outrageous! Who made such a decision?"
But when the students learned it had been Professor Dumbledore himself—
and that the magical detention was personally crafted by the Headmaster, with even Professor Sprout unable to intervene—
their outrage faltered. A heavy silence fell.
Cedric Diggory clenched his fists, regret flashing in his eyes.
He shouldn't have yielded so easily.
He should have rallied the Hufflepuffs to protest, consequences be damned.
Would such defiance stain his record with the Ministry of Magic? Perhaps.
But to abandon a friend for the sake of a spotless résumé?
That wasn't Cedric Diggory's style.
Now, though, it was too late.
With a long sigh, he could only wait for the review board to depart before devising some way to free Robert from this injustice.
Meanwhile, the mood was quite different elsewhere.
In the Slytherin common room, which had been brooding and resentful after their recent Quidditch loss, the atmosphere brightened instantly at the news.
When they heard that the review board had "forced" Dumbledore to concede and punish Robert, cheers broke out.
Draco Malfoy, his cheeks flushed, abandoned all pretense of dignity. He leapt onto a table, waving his fists triumphantly.
"I knew it! My father is here, and Slytherin is safe. My father is a school governor—our House has backing! They thought they could attack us with underhanded tricks, but they'll pay for it. Even Dumbledore must bow to the Board of Governors!"
The younger Slytherins who had quietly mocked Draco for his repeated defeats at Robert's hands now looked at him with newfound respect.
The House of Malfoy was once again proving itself the pride of pure-blood society.
Even Dumbledore had to yield.
But as Draco continued to boast, his voice ringing in the vaulted chamber, a sharp interruption cut through the noise.
"Mr. Malfoy," came Professor Snape's cold drawl from the doorway,
"I intended to wait until you finished boasting before calling you. Unfortunately, you've gone on for a full three minutes. Your father is waiting in my office. Get down from that table at once."
Draco's eyes gleamed. He hopped down eagerly and nearly ran for the door.
"Father must have more good news! Just wait—restoring Slytherin's glory is my duty!"
Snape's lip curled as he watched Draco's excited exit.
"Glory," he murmured with a trace of scorn.
He knew Lucius Malfoy too well.
The man prized practical gain over hollow ideals. If discarding dignity served his interests, he would do so without hesitation. It was how he had survived the post-war purges and regained influence.
Yes, Draco had been coddled too much.
Perhaps Lucius meant to temper him now.
Snape left Draco at the office door. "He's inside. I'll leave you to it. Lucius, I still have to waste time with those foolish review board members. Don't cause me more trouble—or friendship will not stop me from cursing you."
Lucius chuckled awkwardly, but Draco barely noticed, too busy basking in the knowledge that his father and his Head of House were close allies. That meant honor for him, too.
"Father, why did you call me?" Draco asked eagerly.
Lucius's face grew solemn.
"Do you know Robert's full punishment? Beyond the three weeks' detention?"
Draco shook his head.
"He must patrol the Forbidden Forest for one night at the end of term."
Draco's eyes lit up in savage delight.
"I knew you wouldn't let him off lightly! The Forest has werewolves, centaurs, all sorts of monsters. That fool might not even come back!"
But Lucius raised a hand, silencing him.
"At the end of term, you will find a reason—any reason, breaking a rule will do—to enter the Forbidden Forest alongside him."
The words hit Draco like a curse.
"W-what? With him? Why would I—"
"Because this boy will resent what has happened," Lucius said coolly. "Even with the charm I placed, his grudge may remain. But if you share danger with him, that resentment can transform into trust. He may become a friend to the House of Malfoy—a future ally."
Draco stared in horror. "Friend? Ally? Father, he knocked out my tooth! He humiliated me with the Devil's Snare. And now you want me to grovel before him?"
For once, Lucius's sternness did not waver.
"You will do this."
Draco lowered his head, trembling. His voice cracked.
"Father, I'll obey. But why him?"
Lucius sighed, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Because he is valuable. There are no eternal friends, no eternal enemies—only eternal interests. Robert Sprout has the potential to bring great rewards. Enough to safeguard our House's future."
His voice grew heavier.
"I've bowed and groveled in ways you cannot imagine, Draco. That is why you can now stand tall and speak proudly of our family's name."
For a brief moment, Lucius's mask slipped, and Draco saw the deep lines of weariness etched into his father's face. The Dark Mark on Lucius's arm burned faintly, reminding him of the terror that had once nearly destroyed him.
Draco's throat tightened. "I'll learn, Father. I'll do it." Then, hesitantly: "What about Harry Potter? Should I also… try?"
Lucius's mouth curved faintly.
"No. Continue as you are—his rival, his nuisance. It is safer. His friends fall into danger. His enemies, strangely, survive."
Draco nodded, only half understanding.
As their conversation drew to a close, Lucius's expression hardened.
"One last thing, Draco. Do not wander at night. Not once. Something terrible lurks within this castle, and I won't risk you crossing its path."
Draco shivered. The tone in his father's voice chilled him more than the warning itself.
That same night, in the Forbidden Forest, a dreadful cry echoed.
Silver blood splattered across snow, brighter than moonlight. A unicorn lay lifeless, its silvery-white coat still gleaming, its beauty undimmed even in death.
From the shadows, a hooded figure lunged forward like a starving beast. He fell upon the corpse, tearing at the wound with his mouth, drinking greedily.
The foul taste of cursed blood slid down his throat, but power flooded his body in return.
Professor Quirrell gasped in ecstasy.
"Well done," hissed the voice in his mind—Lord Voldemort's rare praise.
"To serve you, Master, is my greatest honor," Quirrell whispered fervently. "Tonight I will write again to Lucius Malfoy. He must tie Dumbledore and the professors down with bureaucracy. While the unicorn blood is fresh in me, I will seize the Philosopher's Stone."
"Are you certain?" Voldemort's voice was low and dangerous.
"I am," Quirrell answered eagerly. "The obstacles are child's play. The Cerberus? I already tricked Hagrid into revealing its weakness. Devil's Snare, flying keys, wizard's chess, logic puzzles—I know them all. They cannot stop me. Tonight, I will change the world."
Voldemort's presence pulsed with anticipation.
"Then act. Do not fail me."
Quirrell's lips curled into a mad smile. He could already see himself at the pinnacle of magical power.
Back in the castle, storms brewed unseen.
In the Gryffindor common room, Harry, Ron, and Hermione whispered nervously, sleep eluding them.
In the Slytherin dormitory, Draco lay awake, his father's words haunting him: Interests. Bowing down.
He sighed, not understanding, but sensing their weight.
And in the Little Greenhouse, Robert's eyes burned with excitement.
After a full day of practice, he finally understood why Dumbledore had told him that the Serpensortia spell would aid his Transfiguration. With Professor McGonagall's patient guidance, the theories clicked into place.
He now grasped the two great frameworks: Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration—the changes of magical form, and Tollerman's Transformations—the changes of magical properties. But he also realized theory alone could never solve practical problems.
Just as in his previous life one needed specialized fields—accounting within humanities, structural mechanics within engineering—Transfiguration required mastery of its many branches.
Conjuration was one such branch. And Serpensortia, which conjured a venomous snake from nothing, was its exemplar.
If he could master this, what else might be possible? Shields, ropes, weapons—the possibilities thrilled him.
Raising his wand in a sharp motion, he shouted:
"Serpensortia!"
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