Chapter 50: What Does Snape Know About Quidditch

What Silven didn't know was that not long after he left, someone came from the other end of the corridor.

Snape walked up to the gargoyle, gave the password, and followed the spiral staircase behind it up to the Headmaster's office.

At that moment Dumbledore was searching for something on the bookshelf; hearing the noise, he turned his head to look.

"Severus, what a rare pleasure. What brings you to see me?"

"I just saw Ollivander," Snape said. "So you've finally decided to expel him, have you?"

"I don't know what you mean." Dumbledore turned around. "As I see it, this is merely a small accident. Although it broke school rules, it hardly warrants expulsion. Besides, Minerva has already handed down a punishment — she is the Head of Gryffindor after all."

"And the troll's spine?" Snape said unhurriedly. "And I recall telling you once that Ollivander also purchased a redcap's heart from Knockturn Alley."

"You bought one too," Dumbledore said. "Yet you are still Head of Slytherin, Severus."

"We are not the same!"

"As I see it, you are," Dumbledore said. He thought for a moment, then added another line.

"Still, a student going to Knockturn Alley to buy things is truly improper. Five points from Gryffindor — let us hope this punishment teaches him a lesson and keeps him away from those dangerous places."

Snape's face was cold, as if a layer of frost had formed over it.

Five points from Gryffindor? What kind of punishment is that? He docked more than five points from Harry in a single class.

He even suspected that Gryffindor students wouldn't even notice they'd lost five points.

"Suit yourself." Snape couldn't be bothered to keep arguing. "Then, what about the matter I raised last time? Have you given it any thought?"

"You want to referee the next Quidditch match — is it because of Harry?"

"That idiot Potter will probably never realise that it's Quirrell who wants him dead." Snape laughed coldly, as if he were talking about a brainless troll.

"The general Counter-spell isn't very effective. I have to stay close enough to Potter to make sure the broom doesn't lose control again."

"Actually, you don't need to do that." Dumbledore opened the window and glanced at the Quidditch pitch outside. "I'll be at the next match. Quirrell won't dare play any tricks."

Snape said nothing, simply standing there staring at Dumbledore…

"Very well, if you insist." Dumbledore relented, letting out a soft sigh.

"I'll let Madam Hooch know. At last she'll be able to sit in the stands and watch an entire match in peace."

"A wise choice," Snape said. Then, with a single turn, his black cloak swept high into the air, and he flew out of the Headmaster's office like a giant bat.

He even pretended not to hear Dumbledore's parting words behind him — "I hope you'll be fair and impartial" — and slammed the door shut with a bang.

……

"What did you say — Snape is going to be the referee?" The moment Oliver Wood delivered this news, the Gryffindor common room exploded.

Now no one was paying any more attention to Silven; they all swarmed over in a crowd.

Trashing the dormitory last night, skipping class this morning — and it was Professor Flitwick's Charms class, no less — this string of incidents had made Silven the talk of Gryffindor.

Even though he insisted over and over that he hadn't skipped class, it was no use.

Fortunately, the team members returned just then. Trashing dormitories, skipping classes — in the face of Quidditch, all of it instantly became trivial.

"You're joking — when has he ever refereed a Quidditch match?"

"This is a plot. He definitely won't make fair calls."

"Let's go protest to Professor McGonagall."

"It's useless — the Headmaster decided this!"

"Then what do we do? Just lose the match like that?"

"There must be some other way. At least if we follow the rules, he won't have an excuse to cause trouble."

Everyone was chattering away, debating what to do. Silven didn't join the fuss; instead, he took the chance to sneak back to the dormitory on his own.

To spare himself the moment these people came to their senses and started saying terrifying things like asking him to lead some revolt against Minerva McGonagall.

Although he wanted to learn Animagus transformation, he had no desire to be transformed into some kind of animal by other means.

The chatter in the Gryffindor common room continued until well past midnight, but by the afternoon of the following Saturday, the match still began as scheduled.

This time Silven had nothing to do, so he prepared to go watch the match with the others.

As he sat down in the stands, Silven suddenly heard Hermione's voice from his right.

"Remember — it's Locomotor Mortis. Don't forget."

"I know," Ron said impatiently. "Stop nagging."

"Hm?" Silven turned his head.

"For the sake of fairness in the match." Noticing Silven's puzzled expression, Hermione explained in a low voice, "We discussed it last night. The moment Snape shows any sign of trying to hurt Harry, we'll hit him with the Leg-Locker Curse."

"Assaulting a professor — are you trying to get yourselves expelled from Hogwarts?" Silven shook his head. "I understand what you're thinking, but there's no need. Look at who that is over there."

As he spoke, he pointed toward the teachers' stand.

"Dumbledore!" Ron nearly shouted. "Dumbledore's come to watch the match too — wonderful! With him here, no one can hurt Harry!"

The two of them were instantly relieved, and at the same time pulled out the wands they'd hidden in their sleeves.

And the truth was just as Ron had thought: from start to finish, Harry's broom never showed any sign of trouble.

Though it might also be that there hadn't been time to carry out any schemes — because from beginning to end, the match lasted less than five minutes, and Silven hadn't even finished his third roasted walnut.

After the cheers that rang across the Quidditch pitch faded, the crowd began to leave one by one.

As he walked through the area between the castle and the Quidditch pitch, Silven's gaze remained fixed in one direction.

"What are you looking at?" Neville asked curiously.

"That!" Silven pointed at a huge willow tree near the greenhouses — far taller than an ordinary willow, its trunk gnarled and rough, brimming with a sense of power.

The Whomping Willow — one of the most precious magical plants in the Wizarding World.

He'd been too embarrassed before, but now, after half a school term, Silven had finally begun to set his sights on this old tree.

No helping it — he was bored.

After completing that two-foot wand, Silven could never work up much enthusiasm when making ordinary wands, as if he had lost his original passion.

Yesterday afternoon, with no classes, Silven had originally planned to use up the Red Cap hearts he'd bought earlier, but he only managed to make two wands before his focus began to slip, causing his failure rate to climb higher and higher.

By the end, Silven even found himself wondering whether he should go do his homework… He had actually thought about homework while making wands!

That was terrifying.

So, after feeding all the remaining materials to Tom, Silven decided to find himself a new goal.

(End of Chapter)