Chapter 38: Prejudice

This Quidditch match was far from smooth—it was plagued by numerous problems, and Harry nearly got thrown off his new broom from thirty feet in the air.

After the match ended, he desperately wanted to find a place where he could speak freely and discuss matters, so after a brief celebration, he went with Ron and Hermione to Hagrid’s hut.

It was the safest place he could think of.

Harry stepped forward and knocked on the door.

In the past, Hagrid always opened the door immediately when he arrived, but this time they waited a long while, and there was no sound from inside.

Not even Fang’s barking.

“Nobody home?” Harry frowned and glanced at the window, but the curtains blocked his view.

“That doesn’t make sense—I clearly saw Hagrid come back,” Ron said, stepping forward to peer through the keyhole. “I wouldn’t mistake Hagrid for anyone else, would I?”

“Maybe he and Fang went back into the Forbidden Forest,” Hermione said.

But just then, the wooden door creaked open from within.

“Hagrid!” Harry looked up in surprise. “I thought you weren’t home.”

“Ah, something came up—I couldn’t leave,” Hagrid said, sounding uneasy. “Come in, warm yourselves up.”

The three didn’t suspect anything and hurried inside.

It was indeed cold outside in November—the wind cut like knives—but the room with its burning stove was cozy.

At the same time, they saw the other guest inside.

“Silven…” Harry exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“As you can see,” Silven pointed to the massive stick on the floor. “Crafting.”

Only then did Harry notice Silven holding a saw, and wood shavings scattered across the floor.

He didn’t quite understand, but didn’t ask further.

The three exchanged silent glances. Ron had been about to say something, but quickly changed the subject, starting to talk about the recent weather.

Harry and Hermione followed along.

With no preparation, they were forcing conversation—from weather to homework to Quidditch, each topic more awkward than the last.

At first, Hagrid would murmur in agreement, but soon he fell silent, and the atmosphere grew increasingly tense.

Hermione frowned. Since arriving, she’d noticed Hagrid seemed nervous, his eyes constantly drifting in one direction.

Sometimes, mid-sentence, he’d unconsciously turn his head.

She quietly memorized his movements and glanced in that direction.

But all she saw was a burning fireplace and an old sheet hanging on the wall—nothing else.

Strange—what was there to be nervous about?… Hermione didn’t understand, thinking she might have misread the spot.

But the hut was small; she scanned every corner and found nothing amiss.

If anything had to be called odd… perhaps Silven himself.

He hadn’t gone to the match, and he was the only Gryffindor student she knew who hadn’t attended.

One could say he had no interest in Quidditch—there were plenty like him, including herself.

She’d gone to the match only to cheer for Harry—or perhaps for her own house.

After all, Hogwarts rarely hosted such lively, large-scale events; it was a rare chance, and joining the crowd was far more fun than staying alone in the cold, empty castle.

But Silven hadn’t gone—not because he had something important to do, but just to carve wood.

Silven and Harry were friends, weren’t they? To skip a friend’s match just to carve wood… Hermione found it hard to understand.

And Hagrid’s strange behavior was equally troubling.

Her gaze shifted between Silven and Hagrid, but she saw nothing conclusive—it was an unbearable feeling.

And then there was Ron’s ill-timed voice.

“Hermione, don’t you think…?”

“We can trust Silven,” Hermione snapped, not knowing what Ron was even asking. “Just get to the point—no need to hide anything.”

“We, we do trust him,” Ron said, his tone stiff.

“What are you talking about?” Hagrid set down pine-needle tea before them.

“Someone tried to harm Harry during the Quidditch match,” Hermione said. “He nearly fell off his broom!”

“It was Snape,” Ron said, no longer hesitating. “Hermione and I saw him—chanting a spell on your broom, muttering under his breath, eyes locked on you the whole time.”

“Nonsense,” Hagrid dismissed Ron’s claim outright. “Why would Snape do something like that?”

“We don’t know, but we really saw it.”

“Perhaps he was casting a counter-charm,” Silven spoke up for the first time. “After all, you must keep your eyes fixed on the target when undoing a spell.”

“Silven?” Ron turned, incredulous. “How can you—”

“Don’t misunderstand—I’m not defending Snape. I’m merely offering another possibility,” Silven cut in. “You may not believe it, but given the circumstances, it’s not impossible.”

Harry and Ron said nothing. Hermione stared at her teacup, deep in thought.

“You two talk. I’m leaving,” Silven stood, pointing to the now noticeably thinner stick. “Hagrid, may I take this?”

“Sure, take it,” Hagrid agreed without hesitation.

It was just a piece of wood—giving it to Silven didn’t matter.

“Thank you,” Silven said, levitating the stick with a spell as he passed over the three and left the hut.

Whether Snape meant to harm Harry or save him didn’t matter—Harry already had his answer.

Prejudice in the heart is a mountain, and Harry’s prejudice against Snape was a whole range of them.

Under these circumstances, even if Silven told him the truth now, he wouldn’t believe it—even if the culprit confessed outright, Harry would still harbor doubts.

Of course, that was Snape’s own doing. Anyone else would have snapped long ago after what he’d done; the fact Harry hadn’t cut ties with him yet was already a sign of weakness.

After returning the stick to his dormitory, Silven went to the Great Hall for lunch.

Not long after, Harry and the others returned.

Whether because of their earlier conversation in the hut or not, they didn’t sit beside Silven as usual—they kept their distance.

But Silven understood.

For an eleven-year-old wizard, his earlier words were no different from outright betrayal; it was natural they couldn’t grasp it right away.

Still, Silven didn’t care.

He was busy every day—classes, homework, plus after-hours work at Hagrid’s hut refining wand cores, smoothing and carving the wand shafts with runes. He had no time to notice Harry’s moods.

(End of Chapter)