The Terrifying Office

"What on earth is wrong with him?" Harry watched Snape walk away step by step and muttered in disbelief.

Merlin above, he had to still be half-asleep. He'd actually heard Snape agree to help Silvan buy things—and contraband, no less.

"I don't know." Ron rubbed his ears vigorously.

"He's probably acting out of a professor's sense of responsibility," Hermione said.

Harry couldn't help laughing. "I wish he'd remember his sense of responsibility when he deliberately gives me a hard time."

Silvan said nothing. He suddenly realized that Snape didn't seem to be... Well, he was still pretty unpleasant. But if you overlooked his favoritism, nastiness, abuse of authority, vanity, and preference for Potter, Snape could still be called a competent professor.

At least, that was true as far as Silvan was concerned.

After all, if he bought ingredients from Snape, he could save a fortune on shipping. Snape was a professor, so he couldn't exactly charge a student a delivery fee, could he?

Besides, Snape was a renowned Potions master with a sharp eye for potion ingredients. Anything that passed through his hands was guaranteed to be neither defective nor counterfeit.

The only trouble was that there were restrictions, and many things couldn't be bought.

But that wasn't much of a problem for Silvan. He hadn't planned on using any contraband ingredients anyway. If he ever really needed any... well, he'd figure it out then. The Weasley brothers should be able to help.

Silvan was still thinking when three heads suddenly appeared in front of him.

He didn't know when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had come over. They were all staring at him, as if trying to read something on his face.

"What are you doing!" Silvan instinctively stepped back, putting some distance between them.

"Are you and Snape... related or something?" Harry managed to ask after a long pause.

Other than that, he couldn't think of any reason why Snape would help a Gryffindor. Snape hadn't even confiscated the things. He'd kept them for inspection, and if there was nothing wrong with them, he'd return them that evening.

Harry had racked his brains and still couldn't figure out why a few bloody Red Cap hearts could be kept for inspection, while a copy of Magical Quidditch Balls had to be confiscated outright.

Thinking about it, the Ollivander Family had a long history. As the Slytherin Head of House who valued Pure-bloods above all else, Snape might really have some connection to Silvan.

"Don't be ridiculous." Silvan glanced at him. "Professor Snape is a good professor. He's not that snobbish."

"Snape, a good professor?" Ron squeaked, glaring at Silvan. "I never thought you'd betray us!"

Harry's face had gone stiff, too.

They were friends, weren't they? Weren't friends supposed to stick together?

"I'm warning you two: don't say anything bad about Professor Snape, or I'll tell on you." Silvan raised an eyebrow.

Snape was now an important supplier of ingredients to him, just like Hagrid. Compared to that, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were practically strangers. They shouldn't try to act familiar.

Ron and Harry's faces flushed red.

They could tell that Silvan had been joking, but his words had still been a little irritating.

"Hermione, you're not allowed to lend him your homework anymore," Ron said, trying to get Hermione on his side and teach Silvan a lesson.

He knew perfectly well that Silvan, like them, asked Hermione for help with his homework.

Hermione thought he was being childish and didn't even look at him.

Later, as the four of them returned to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron kept chattering, trying to set Silvan's misguided thinking straight.

But nobody paid him any attention. Silvan pretended not to hear him, Hermione couldn't be bothered to respond, and Harry was simply too nervous.

The Quidditch Match was about to begin. Just thinking about it made his heart race, and he couldn't even eat.

That evening, the Gryffindor Common Room was buzzing with excitement. Everyone was looking forward to the match the next day.

As Silvan came out of the dormitory, someone hurried over to him.

"Silvan, are you going to Snape's office now?" Harry asked.

"That's right." Silvan nodded. "Do you want to come with me? I remember he confiscated one of your books, too."

"If you can, could you help me get it back?" Harry asked quietly.

He'd considered going himself, but Snape had been giving him a hard time almost every day lately, and he really didn't want to see that face.

Since Silvan was going to the Potions office anyway, he wondered if he could get him to help.

"I'll give it a try," Silvan replied casually.

If someone else had asked, he wouldn't have minded asking on their behalf. But Harry...

Snape felt differently about Potter. It wouldn't be easy to get back even a book, let alone a sheet of parchment.

After leaving the common room, Silvan went downstairs to Snape's office and knocked.

"Come in," Snape called from inside.

Silvan pushed the door open and went in.

The office was chilly and dimly lit, its walls covered with all sorts of strange potion ingredients.

Snape sat behind a table whose original color was impossible to make out. He waved his wand, setting a glass jar—large enough to be called a barrel—on the table.

The stuff inside the jar... was it blood?

Silvan wasn't sure, but he could see a bit of a stark-white bone sticking out from behind the table.

A gloomy underground classroom at night, a collection of unidentified fluids, bones scattered across the floor, and a professor wiping his hands.

Silvan suddenly wasn't so eager to get his things back. He wondered if it was still too late to make a run for it.

"Your things are on the table." Snape lifted his eyelids. "Take them and get out. That trash is so shoddy that I'd have thrown it away myself."

Silvan ignored Snape's sarcasm and darted forward to grab the bag.

Shoddy or not, he'd paid for it. He couldn't let it go to waste.

"Then I'll be off, Professor," Silvan said, preparing to leave.

"Wait." Snape suddenly called out. "Go find Rubeus Hagrid and tell him to come here. You know who Rubeus Hagrid is, don't you?"

"Of course, Professor. I know," Silvan said, turning toward the door.

But then he noticed something familiar behind it: a wooden club about four feet long.

It seemed familiar because Silvan had seen it before—in the Troll's hands.

The sight of the Troll dragging the club toward them had been so shocking that Silvan still couldn't forget it. He was certain it was the Troll's weapon.

But after the Troll fell, the club had been left in the corridor. How had it ended up here...

"What are you dawdling for?"

Before Silvan could figure it out, Snape's impatient voice came from behind him.

"Sorry, Professor. I'm going now." Silvan didn't hesitate again and hurried out of the office.