Chapter 39: Conflict

Overnight, Hogwarts Castle was covered in thick snow, as if reminding people that Christmas was just around the corner.

Silven had originally planned to return to Diagon Alley for Christmas, because a month ago he received a letter from his parents, stating they would be returning to Britain for the holiday.

But now the plan had changed.

Silven glanced at the long-necked glass bottle on the windowsill, where a pale yellow resin floated a stick nearly two and a half feet long.

This was the wand shaft he had been crafting these past days; judging by its current state, it would soon meet the standard for wand shaft production.

As for the core, Hagrid still refused to let Silven take that item out of the hut—if he went home for Christmas, he would have to wait until term resumed to make this special wand.

Silven did not want to miss this rare holiday, so he signed his name on the list of students staying on campus.

“Silven Ollivander, come to my office.” After Potions class, Snape spoke in a cold tone.

Harry and his two friends, who had nearly reached the door, stopped instantly and turned to look at Silven.

The minor resentment from a month ago had long since faded with time; Harry and Ron had been looking for a chance to speak with Silven, and now was perfect.

“What does he want with you?” Harry asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“Don’t worry, it’s not detention,” Silven said. “Probably my application was approved.”

“You actually asked him to buy something?” Ron exclaimed in surprise.

“Not yet… it wasn’t buying—it was an application. I approached Professor McGonagall,” Silven said. “It’s too complicated to explain in a few words. I’ll go now; meet me in the Great Hall later.”

In just a few sentences, their relationship seemed to return to how it had been before, as if the minor friction from a month ago had never existed.

“Alright, see you in the Great Hall,” Harry said, secretly relieved.

After leaving the classroom, Silven followed Snape to his office.

Compared to his last visit, the room had hardly changed, except that the wall shelves now held a new batch of potion ingredients.

“Here is what you requested,” Snape said, placing a thumb-sized bottle on the desk, his expression blank as he fixed Silven with a piercing stare. “Tell me—how did you know the school has troll blood?”

“I heard it from Professor Quirrell,” Silven replied calmly, voicing the excuse he had prepared.

Blaming Quirrell was enough—no matter how fiercely he denied it, Snape would never believe him.

True to form, upon hearing Quirrell’s name, Snape’s face darkened instantly, his brows knitting tightly as if he had glimpsed something revolting.

“What do you intend to do with it?” he demanded next.

“To make a wand,” Silven said.

“Liar!” Snape suddenly stepped forward, his black cloak stirring a cold wind. “I’ve researched this—wand-making does not require the blood of magical creatures. Tell me the truth!”

“I am telling the truth,” Silven said, meeting Snape’s eyes without flinching. “If you don’t believe me, ask Professor McGonagall. She has already confirmed this with my grandfather.”

Silven was not lying. This bottle of troll blood had been prepared in advance as a precaution for the wand core, following the proper procedure.

He first wrote to his grandfather, Garrick Ollivander, who then submitted the application on his behalf to Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor. Only after her approval was it relayed to Snape.

The process was unnecessarily cumbersome, taking several days—but it was entirely compliant with school regulations.

Since Silven spoke the truth, he felt no guilt.

Snape stared into Silven’s eyes—then suddenly, his face turned deathly pale, veins bulging on his temples, and within less than a second, a fine sheen of sweat broke out across his skin.

This sudden change startled Silven; before he could speak, Snape swept his hand violently.

“Get out! Get out!” he snarled, and the door slammed open with a bang.

Seeing Snape’s condition, Silven guessed something—without a word, he snatched the bottle from the desk and turned to leave.

The moment he stepped out, the door slammed shut again, shaking loose a cloud of dust.

Silven stood in the corridor, recalling Snape’s strange reaction, and unconsciously raised an eyebrow.

Snape just now… didn’t he use Legilimency on me?

He hadn’t felt anything—but from Snape’s reaction, it was almost certainly that.

Ancient wizards were not as gentle as modern ones, and this was reflected in the magic arrays they created.

If Occlumency were a curtain, then a magic array was a wasp’s nest hanging from a tree—not only would you get stung all over your head if you dared to peer into it, but even getting close would bring a swarm.

If Occlumency is a curtain, then the magical array is a wasp nest hanging from a tree—don’t even think about climbing up to peer inside, or you’ll be stung all over the head.

For a bottle of troll blood, approved by Professor McGonagall, he used Legilimency on a first-year student?

Well, he deserved every sting.

Snape’s image as a professor plummeted in Silven’s eyes.

But it didn’t matter—as long as he was still willing to help procure items, he remained a good professor.

Silven left the underground classroom and found the corridor to the entrance hall packed with students, crowded on both sides, with more pouring in—mostly Gryffindors and Slytherins.

One group stood to the left, the other to the right; green and red scarves stood in stark contrast, the two sides shouting furiously, and some had already drawn their wands.

As more students arrived, the path ahead became completely blocked. Then Silven realized—he stood right at the entrance to the underground classroom, which was on the Slytherin side.

Looking up, he saw nothing but silver-and-green scarves ahead.

But because of the distance between the classroom and the corridor, and the overwhelming noise of the argument, no one had noticed him yet.

But because there was still some distance between the underground classroom and the corridor, and the arguing was so loud, no one had noticed him yet.

A full-scale brawl?

Silven silently pulled his wand from his pocket, hesitating whether to strike first.

After all, his position was ideal—attacking from behind could easily throw the Slytherins into chaos.

But before he could move, a cry erupted behind him.

“Oh, what is that?!”

Silven spun around—and exhaled in relief when he saw who it was.

“Fred, George, why are you here?”

“Of course to sneak up on them from behind,” Fred blurted out.

“Before you ask more questions, could you tell us what you’re holding?”

“A wand,” Silven said.

“We know what a wand is,” George rubbed his eyes hard. “But why are you holding three wands?!”

“Because one hand can only hold three,” Silven said.

“You have more?”

“Of course,” Silven said matter-of-factly. “As a wandmaker, carrying a few extra wands is perfectly reasonable.”

If he could, Silven would carry more—but he was only a first-year, and three was already pushing it.

Fred and George blinked, momentarily convinced the logic made sense…

No—they weren’t talking about hand size!

“What are you doing? Everyone, leave immediately!”

Just as the Weasley twins were about to say more, Professor McGonagall arrived, accompanied by Hermione.

Her lips were pressed tightly together; everyone immediately scrambled to the sides, trying to avoid the most visible spots.

But with so many students, it was difficult—several people tripped and fell.

“Pointing your wands at your classmates—do you know what you’re doing?”

“Twenty points from Gryffindor and twenty from Slytherin!”

She sounded furious, her voice trembling. “Leave this place at once. If this happens again, I will cancel the next Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin!”

She looked furious, her voice trembling, “Everyone leave this place immediately! If this happens again, I will cancel the upcoming Quidditch matches between Gryffindor and Slytherin!”

(End of Chapter)