Chapter 39: Conflict

Overnight, Hogwarts castle was blanketed in thick snow, as if reminding everyone that Christmas was almost here.

Silven's original plan had been to spend Christmas in Diagon Alley, because a month earlier he had received a letter from his parents saying they would be returning to England for the holiday.

But now the plan had changed.

Silven glanced at the long-necked glass bottle on the windowsill; suspended in the pale yellow resin inside, a "baseball bat" roughly two and a half feet long floated quietly.

This was the wand body he had been working on these past few days, and judging by its current state, it should soon meet the standard for a finished wand body.

As for the wand core, Hagrid still wouldn't allow Silven to take the thing out of the wooden hut, so if he went home for Christmas, he'd have to wait until the new term to find time to finish making this special wand.

Not wanting to miss this rare holiday, Silven signed his name on the list of students staying at school for the festivities.

"Silven Ollivander, come to my office." After Potions class ended, Snape said in an icy tone.

Harry and the other two, who had almost reached the door, stopped at once and turned to look at Silven.

The little awkwardness from a month ago had long since been washed clean by time; Harry and Ron had been looking for a chance to say something to Silven, and now was just the opportunity.

"What does he want with you?" Harry asked, his tone a little worried.

"Don't worry, it's not detention," Silven said. "It's probably that the thing I applied for got approved."

"You really did ask him to buy something?" Ron asked, looking astonished.

"Not yet… it's not buying something, it's an application—I went to Professor McGonagall," Silven said. "It's hard to explain in a word or two; I'll head over first, see you in the Great Hall later."

After a few words, their relationship seemed to return to what it had been before, as if the little friction a month ago had never existed.

"Alright, see you in the Great Hall later," Harry said, secretly breathing a quiet sigh of relief.

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

Compared to the last time he'd been here, almost nothing had changed, except that the potion ingredients on the walls had been swapped out for another batch.

"This is what you wanted." Snape took out a thumb-sized bottle and set it on the desk, while fixing Silven with an expressionless stare and demanding:

"Tell me, how did you know the school had troll blood."

"I heard it from Professor Quirrell," Silven said evenly, giving the excuse he'd long prepared.

All he had to do was push the matter onto Quirrell—after all, no matter how hard Quirrell denied it, Snape wouldn't believe him.

Sure enough, at the name Quirrell, Snape's face instantly darkened, his brows knitting tight, as if he'd seen something nauseating.

"What do you want it for?" he asked next.

"To make a wand," Silven said.

"Liar!" Snape suddenly pressed forward, his black cloak sending up a gust of cold air. "I've looked into it—making a wand doesn't require the blood of a magical creature. You'd better tell the truth!"

"What I said is the truth," Silven said calmly, meeting Snape's eyes. "If you don't believe me, you can go ask Professor McGonagall—she's already confirmed it with my grandfather."

Silven really wasn't lying; this bottle of troll blood was something he'd prepared in advance for the wand core, just in case, and he'd gone through the proper channels.

First, he'd written to his grandfather, Garrick Ollivander, who then submitted an application on Silven's behalf to the Head of Gryffindor, Minerva McGonagall; once Professor McGonagall agreed, she relayed it to Snape.

Going around in this circle was a bit cumbersome and took several days, but the upside was that it fully complied with school rules.

Silven was telling the truth, so naturally he had nothing to feel guilty about.

Snape stared into Silven's eyes, and suddenly his face went deathly pale, the veins at his temples bulging; in less than a second, a fine sheen of sweat had broken out across it.

The sudden change startled Silven, and before he could say anything, Snape flung out a hand in a violent wave.

"Get out, get out!" he roared, and the door slammed open with a bang.

Looking at Snape's state, Silven seemed to guess what had happened. He said nothing, swiftly picked up the bottle on the desk, turned, and left.

The moment he stepped out of the office, the door slammed shut again with a heavy thud, shaking down a great shower of dust.

Silven stood in the corridor, replaying Snape's strange behavior a moment ago, and unconsciously raised an eyebrow.

Snape just now… couldn't have used Legilimency on him, could he?

Even though he hadn't felt a thing, judging from the way Snape had looked, it was almost certainly the case.

The magicians of a few thousand years ago were nowhere near as gentle as today's wizards, and this was reflected in the magical arrays they created.

If Occlumency was a curtain, then a magical array was a hornet's nest hanging in a tree—forget throwing yourself on it and peering inside with abandon, even getting a little close would get you stung all over with lumps.

Snape had probably just been stung.

Using Legilimency on a student—over a bottle of troll blood that Professor McGonagall had approved?

Heh, then he really had it coming.

Snape's image as a professor plummeted in Silven's mind.

But that didn't matter—as long as he was still willing to help buy things, he was still a good professor.

Silven left the dungeon classroom and found the corridor leading to the entrance hall unusually packed, lined on both sides with students, with more still streaming in—all Gryffindors and Slytherins.

One side on the left, the other on the right, green and red scarves sharply divided, arguing themselves hoarse, some already drawing their wands.

As more and more people arrived, the path ahead was completely blocked; then Silven suddenly realized that the entrance to the dungeon classroom where he stood happened to be on the Slytherin side.

He looked up—every scarf ahead was silver and green.

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

A mass confrontation?

A brawl in the making?

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

After all, his position was a good one—sneak-attacking from behind would easily throw the Slytherins into disarray.

But before he could act, an exclamation burst out from behind him.

"Oh, what's this!"

Silven turned at once, then relaxed when he saw who it was.

"Fred, George, why are you here?"

"To sneak-attack them from behind, of course," Fred blurted out.

"Before you ask any more questions, could you tell us what you're holding in your hand?"

"Wands," Silven said.

"Of course we know what wands are." George rubbed his eyes hard. "But why are you holding three wands!"

"Because one hand can only hold three at a time," Silven said.

"Do you have more?"

"Of course," Silven said matter-of-factly. "Besides, as a wandmaker, it's perfectly reasonable for me to carry a few extra wands on me, isn't it."

If he could, Silven would have liked to carry more, but he was only a first-year; three was already pushing it.

Fred and George froze for a moment, and for a second actually felt that argument made a lot of sense…

No, wait — they weren't talking about the size of a palm!

"What are you doing? Everyone leave at once!"

Just as Fred and George were about to say more, Professor McGonagall, who had gotten word of the situation, arrived, with Hermione beside her.

She pressed her lips tightly together, and everyone immediately scrambled to the sides, trying to get away from the most conspicuous spot.

But because there were too many people, it wasn't easy to do, and several people even fell over.

"Pointing your wands at your fellow students — do you know what you're doing?"

"Twenty points off each, Gryffindor and Slytherin!"

She looked absolutely furious, her voice trembling. "Everyone leave here at once. If this happens again, Gryffindor and Slytherin's upcoming Quidditch match will be cancelled!"

(End of chapter)