Chapter 34: The Terrifying Office

“What on earth is wrong with him?” Harry muttered in disbelief as Snape walked away step by step.

Merlin above, he must not have woken up properly—he actually heard Snape agreeing to buy things for Silven, and forbidden ones at that.

“I don’t know.” Ron rubbed his ears hard.

“It must be due to the professor’s sense of duty,” Hermione said.

Harry couldn’t help laughing, “I sure wish he’d remember his sense of duty when he’s deliberately picking on me.”

Silven said nothing. He suddenly realized Snape didn’t seem to have… well, he was still quite unpleasant. But if you set aside his favoritism, his cruelty, his abuse of power, his vanity, and his preference for Potter, Snape could indeed be called a competent professor.

At least, that was how Silven saw it.

Because buying materials from Snape saved him a huge amount in shipping fees—after all, a professor couldn’t reasonably charge students for errands, could he?

Moreover, Snape was a renowned potioneer with sharp eyes for potion ingredients; anything that passed through his hands was guaranteed free of fakes or substandard goods.

The only trouble was the restrictions—he couldn’t buy many things at all.

But that wasn’t much of a problem for Silven; he hadn’t planned to use any forbidden materials anyway. If he truly needed them later… he’d deal with it then. By then, the Weasley twins should be able to help.

As Silven was thinking this, three heads suddenly appeared before him.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had somehow drifted over, staring at him as if trying to read something off his face.

“What are you doing!” Silven instinctively stepped back, putting distance between them.

“Are you and Snape… related?” Harry blurted out after a long pause.

Aside from that explanation, he couldn’t fathom why Snape would help a Gryffindor—especially since Snape hadn’t even confiscated the items, but instead kept and inspected them, promising to return them that evening if they were fine.

Harry racked his brain but still couldn’t understand why blood-dripping red hat hearts could be inspected and held, while a copy of *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them* was immediately seized.

Upon closer thought, the Ollivander family had ancient roots; as Slytherin’s head, who prized pure blood above all, Snape might indeed have some connection to Silven.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Silven glanced at him. “Professor Snape is a good professor—not that petty.”

“Snape? A good professor?” Ron squeaked, glaring at Silven. “I never thought you’d turn traitor!”

Harry’s face was tight too.

They were friends—shouldn’t friends stand on the same side?

“I’m warning you both—don’t speak ill of Professor Snape, or I’ll report you,” Silven raised an eyebrow.

Now, Snape was just as important as Hagrid—a key supplier of materials. Compared to them, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley? He barely knew them. Don’t try to act familiar.

Ron and Harry’s faces turned red.

Though they could tell Silven’s words had a teasing edge, they were still somewhat irritating.

“Hermione, you’re not letting him borrow your homework anymore,” Ron tried to pull Hermione to his side to teach Silven a lesson.

He knew well that Silven’s homework, like theirs, always relied on Hermione’s help.

Hermione just thought it childish and didn’t even look at him.

On their way back to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron kept going on and on, trying to correct Silven’s misguided thinking.

But no one paid attention—Silven pretended not to hear, Hermione refused to respond, and Harry was too nervous.

The Quidditch match was about to begin; just thinking about it made his heart race so badly he couldn’t even eat.

That night, the Gryffindor common room was noisy, everyone eagerly awaiting tomorrow’s match.

As Silven stepped out of his dormitory, a shadow darted toward him.

“Silven, are you going to Snape’s office now?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Silven nodded. “Want to come with me? I remember you had a book confiscated too.”

“Could you possibly help me get it back?” Harry whispered.

He’d considered going himself, but Snape had been picking on him daily these past few days—he simply couldn’t bear to look at that face again.

Since Silven was heading to the Potions classroom anyway, he wondered if he could ask for a favor.

“I’ll try,” Silven replied offhandedly.

If someone else had asked, he wouldn’t mind giving it a shot—but Harry…

Snape’s feelings toward Potter were different. Not even a book, let alone a scrap of parchment, would be easy to retrieve.

After leaving the common room, Silven went downstairs to Snape’s office and knocked.

“Enter,” came Snape’s voice from inside.

Silven pushed the door open and stepped in.

The office was icy, dimly lit, walls lined with all manner of bizarre potion ingredients.

Snape sat behind a table of indeterminate color, waving his wand to place a glass container—nearly barrel-shaped—onto the surface.

Inside the glass container… was that blood?

Silven wasn’t sure, but he spotted a pale white bone protruding from behind the table.

Nighttime, a gloomy underground classroom, collected unknown liquids, bones scattered across the floor, and a professor wiping his hands.

Suddenly, Silven didn’t want his own items anymore—and he wasn’t even sure if he could still escape in time.

“Your things are on the table,” Snape lifted his eyelids slightly. “Take them and go. That kind of cheap trash—if it were mine, I’d throw it out immediately.”

Silven ignored Snape’s sarcasm and stepped forward to grab the bag.

Whether it was cheap or not, he’d paid for it—he wouldn’t waste it.

“Then, Professor, I’ll be going,” Silven said, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Snape suddenly called out. “Go find Rubeus Hagrid. Tell him to come to me. You know who Rubeus Hagrid is, right?”

“Of course, Professor, I know,” Silven said, turning toward the door.

But then he noticed a familiar object placed behind the door—a wooden rod nearly four feet long.

He recognized it because he’d seen it before—in the giant’s hands.

The image of the giant dragging that club toward him had been too shocking to forget; he was certain it was the giant’s weapon.

But after the giant fell, the club had been left lying in the corridor—how had it ended up here…?

“What are you dawdling for!”

Before Silven could figure it out, Snape’s impatient voice came from behind.

“Sorry, Professor, I’m on my way,” Silven said, no longer hesitating, and hurried out of the office.

(End of chapter)