Chapter 15: Tom Takes Revenge

Facts proved that some of Silven's instincts were actually quite accurate... well, it couldn't really be called instinct.

Because while everyone was celebrating, Silven had spotted the grey cat fur on the staircase, and Tom at the very top of it.

If one's eyes were sharp enough, one could even see the scabs of blood on it, and the grey cat fur that didn't belong.

It had appeared the moment Silven entered the common room, looking pleased with itself, as if seeking credit.

Seeking credit?

A few minutes later, Silven couldn't help but twitch the corner of his mouth.

He suddenly thought—could it be that last night, when Lady Norris had blocked his way, Tom had seen it?

It wasn't impossible.

After all, before entering the school he had warned Tom not to lay a paw on other people's pets... and Lady Norris counted as Filch's pet too.

So Tom couldn't have attacked her for no reason.

And Lady Norris, most likely, wouldn't have provoked a Tom who was a full size larger than her.

Besides, even if Tom really did take a dislike to Lady Norris, he would have cleaned the evidence off himself the moment after the deed... just as he had once tried to hide Leifu away.

Silven had never doubted Tom's intelligence.

After all, the cats at the Eeylops Owl Emporium basically all carried some Kneazle bloodline, and the fact that he could stand out among them and become the "tyrant of the pet shop" was enough to say a great deal.

The fact that Tom now not only dared to keep his "criminal evidence" for a whole day, but also dared to appear brazenly before Silven, showed that he felt secure, and wasn't worried about being punished for it.

Thinking of it this way, things became much simpler.

"Nicely done."

Silven walked up the stairs and rubbed Tom under the chin.

The cat nuzzled Silven's hand, a purring rumble coming from its mouth.

"But you still can't eat a colleague. That's non-negotiable!"

The soft touch at his palm vanished in an instant; turning his head, Silven could only see a black tail tip disappearing into the celebrating crowd.

"Silven."

Ron's voice came from behind.

"You said you'd tell us the reason tonight."

"Ah, that's right." Silven stood up.

"What were you doing just now?" Harry asked curiously.

He seemed to have just seen Silven petting something, but in the blink of an eye it was gone.

"Nothing." Silven said casually, "Don't you want to know why I switched dormitories? Come with me."

Hearing that, Harry immediately tossed his earlier doubt to the back of his mind.

The group went up to the second floor together.

Silven's new dormitory wasn't far from the old one—in fact, it was right next door, less than ten feet between the two doors.

The layout inside the room hadn't changed at all either.

That was to be expected; after all, Gryffindor hadn't prepared a proper single dormitory. This was also a five-person room, it was just that there weren't that many new students, so one had happened to free up.

After Harry and the others came in, they looked around in unison.

Then their attention fell on the table in the dormitory.

Their dormitory also had one of these big tables—very large, in the middle of the five beds, normally used to hold schoolbags, snacks, wizard chess sets, and the like. It could also be used for homework and reading.

But this dormitory only had Silven in it, so there wasn't that much stuff.

Now on the table there was only a transparent long glass tube, containing a pale yellow gel-like substance, and a... wand?

"This isn't a wand, just a half-finished product."

Before they could ask, Silven explained first: "Wand-body conditioning fluid, mixed with fifty different herbs and tree oils. Non-toxic, but the smell is a bit pungent."

While speaking, Silven had already taken the half-finished wand out.

The liquid that came out dripped onto the table; Harry and the others only felt a faint, elusive scent lingering at the tip of their noses.

It was a strange smell mixed with bitterness, earthiness, and sourness... like fermented tomato sauce poured over a freshly cut tree stump.

Just very strange.

Seamus and Ron both instinctively covered their noses, while Harry didn't move at all.

He had previously been living in a cupboard at the Dursleys', where the smell was equally unpleasant; he had long grown used to it.

Now he was watching Silven with great interest.

"You said just now that was a half-finished wand?"

"To be precise, the wand-body." Silven gave it a light twist between his fingers, and the cylindrical wooden stick immediately split in two from the middle.

"Is it finished?" Silven raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"The necessary preparation work." Silven said. He raised his hand and, from somewhere, produced a red, faintly glowing "rope."

"Wait a moment, Silven..." Neville suddenly realized something and said instinctively, "Are you going to make a wand right now?"

"Yes." Silven nodded. "The wand-body is conditioned, and the wand-core is ready-made. Why not?"

"But, but... we're still here." Neville was first stunned, then stammered: "Can we see the process of making a wand?"

Neville was, after all, from a pure-blood wizard family; although his memory was poor, he knew what the process of "making a wand" implied.

There were several thousand wizards in the British Wizarding World, but the only one who could make wands was Ollivander... at least, he only knew of Ollivander.

"You mean that." Silven glanced at them.

Neville, Harry, Seamus, Ron...

"Ah, it's fine, no problem at all. I trust you." Silven said with a smile.

It was as if a ray of sunlight had torn through the night outside the window, and a sudden, inexplicable surge of emotion—and guilt—rose in their hearts.

They had kept harping on Silven's dormitory switch, saying so many ugly things, yet Silven trusted them this much, even willing to share a family secret like this…

Damn it, they really are terrible people!

In fact, the moment they had smelled that strange odor, the few of them had already understood why Silven wanted to live here.

If it were only once in a while, they could grit their teeth and bear it, but if they had to smell it every day… they didn't dare to think about it; they would surely go mad.

"Don't worry, I definitely won't tell anyone else." Seamus Finnigan was the first to declare, his resolute gaze carrying a certain sense of mission.

"Huh?" Silven glanced at him. "I'm not… well, your way of understanding it works too."

In fact, Silven wasn't worried at all.

If one could learn how to make a wand just by looking, then that ability would be far too cheap.

Besides, these few… how to put it, none of them were exactly known for their intellect.

Of course, such words absolutely could not be said out loud—otherwise it would be too hurtful.

Paying no more attention to the others, Silven casually placed the red "rope" onto the cross-section of the wand's body.

One end of the "rope" was like a stream flowing into a river channel, and also like a fish, winding and swimming under Silven's control, leaving behind an irregular trail that flickered with red light.

Control?

Harry suddenly felt a wave of dizziness, and he also noticed that Silven's right hand was glowing—a golden-yellow color, seemingly some kind of symbol.

(End of chapter)