Chapter 38: Prejudice

This Quidditch match didn't go exactly smoothly; a lot of problems cropped up along the way, and Harry very nearly got thrown off his new broom from a height of thirty feet.

After the match ended, he was eager to find somewhere he could speak freely and discuss things, 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.

Usually when he came by, Hagrid would open the door right away, but this time they waited a long while, and there wasn't a sound from inside the hut.

Not even Fang barking.

"No one home?" Harry glanced uncertainly at the window, but the curtain was drawn, so he couldn't see anything.

"That can't be right, I definitely just saw Hagrid come back." Ron stepped forward too, trying to peer through the keyhole. "I couldn't possibly mistake Hagrid, could I?"

"Maybe he and Fang went into the Forbidden Forest again," Hermione said.

But just then, the wooden door suddenly creaked open from the inside.

"Hagrid!" Harry looked up in surprise. "I thought you weren't home just now."

"Ah, had a bit of business, couldn't get away for a moment." Hagrid said, looking a little guilty. "Come in quick and warm up."

The three of them didn't suspect anything and hurried into the wooden hut.

It really was cold outside in November, the wind cutting like a knife; the hut with the stove lit was far more comfortable.

At the same time, they noticed another visitor inside the hut.

"Silven..." Harry said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"As you can see." Silven pointed at the enormous club on the floor in front of him. "Doing some handiwork."

Only then did Harry notice Silven was still holding a saw in his hand, with a pile of wood shavings on the floor.

He didn't quite understand, but he didn't press further.

The three exchanged glances without a word. Ron had seemed about to say something, but quickly changed the subject and started discussing the recent weather.

Harry and Hermione joined in the conversation too.

Having prepared nothing in advance, the three of them were forcing the chat entirely; from the weather to homework, and then to Quidditch, each topic stiffer than the last.

At first Hagrid would chime in now and then, but later he fell silent too, and the atmosphere grew increasingly awkward.

Hermione frowned. From a moment ago she had noticed Hagrid seemed very tense, and his eyes kept drifting in one direction.

Sometimes, halfway through a sentence, he would instinctively tilt his head.

Silently noting his movements, Hermione glanced that way too.

But all she saw was a burning fireplace and an old bedsheet hanging up; nothing else.

Strange, what's there to be nervous about with those things... Hermione didn't understand, and assumed she had looked in the wrong place.

But the hut was only so big; she looked all around and still didn't find anything amiss.

If she had to say one thing... perhaps Silven counted.

He hadn't gone to watch the match today, and seemed to be the only Gryffindor student who hadn't.

One could say he simply wasn't interested in Quidditch; such students weren't rare—she herself included.

She had only gone to the match this time to cheer Harry on, or rather to cheer for her own house.

After all, Hogwarts rarely had such a lively large-scale event; the chance was hard to come by, and joining in the fun was always more interesting than staying in the empty castle.

But Silven hadn't gone, and not for any important reason either—just to whittle wood.

Silven and Harry were friends enough; skipping a friend's match to whittle wood was something Hermione couldn't quite understand.

Besides, Hagrid's strange behaviour was also very noteworthy.

Her gaze moved back and forth between Silven and Hagrid, but she couldn't make anything of it; the feeling was too uncomfortable.

And Ron's ill-timed voice.

"Hermione, don't you think so..."

"We can trust Silven." The irritated Hermione had no idea what Ron was asking her, so she simply said outright: "Let's get straight to the point, no need to beat around the bush."

"We, of course we trust him." Ron said, his tone sounding a bit forced.

"What are you talking about?" Hagrid had finished brewing pine-needle tea and set it down in front of them.

"Someone's trying to hurt Harry, during the Quidditch match," Hermione said. "He nearly fell off his broom!"

"It was Snape." At this point Ron stopped wrestling with it and turned to Harry: "Hermione and I both saw him; he was casting a spell on your broom, muttering under his breath, his eyes fixed on you the whole time."

"Nonsense." Hagrid naturally didn't believe Ron's one-sided story. "Why would Snape do such a thing?"

"We don't know, but we really did see it."

"He might also have been casting a Counter-spell." Silven, who had been silent all along, suddenly spoke up. "After all, casting a Counter-spell also requires keeping your eyes fixed on the target."

"Silven?" Ron turned around in disbelief. "How could you..."

"Don't misunderstand, I'm not trying to defend Snape, just adding a possibility." Silven cut him off directly. "Even if you don't believe it, based on the current situation, this possibility isn't out of the question."

Harry and Ron both said nothing; Hermione stared at her teacup, a thoughtful look on her face.

"You all chat, I'm heading back." Silven stood up, pointed at the wooden club in front of him, now considerably thinner, and asked: "Hagrid, can I take this with me?"

"Sure, take it." Hagrid agreed without much hesitation.

The thing was just a piece of wood; giving it to Silven was no big deal.

"Thanks." Silven said. He Used the Levitation Charm to maneuver the club, and left the hut, passing over the three of them.

Whether Snape was trying to harm Harry or save him didn't matter, because Harry actually already had his answer.

The prejudice in people's hearts is a mountain; Harry's prejudice against Snape could string together an entire mountain range.

Under such circumstances, even if Silven told him the truth now, he wouldn't believe it; even if the culprit confessed in person, he'd still keep three parts of doubt in his heart.

Of course, this was Snape's own doing; given the things he'd done, anyone would have lost patience. The fact that Harry hadn't fallen out with him yet could already be considered a sign of a weak character.

After putting the club back in the dormitory, Silven headed to the Great Hall for lunch.

Not long after, Harry and the others returned.

Whether because of the words spoken in the hut, they did not sit beside Silven as they usually did, but kept their distance.

Yet Silven understood.

For an eleven-year-old wizard, his earlier words were no different from outright "defection"; it was normal for them to be confused for a while.

But Silven did not care.

He was busy every day—attending classes, doing homework, and in his spare time, visiting Hagrid's hut to refine the wand core, polish the shaped wand shaft, and carve magical runes upon it; by day's end, he had no time to notice Harry's moods.

(End of Chapter)