The Terrifying Office

"What on earth is wrong with him?" Harry muttered in disbelief as he watched Snape walk away.

Merlin, he must not have woken up yet. He had actually heard Snape agree to help Silvan buy things, and contraband at that.

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

"It must be out of a professor's sense of responsibility," Hermione said.

Harry couldn't help but let out a laugh. "I really wish he would remember that sense of responsibility when he's deliberately looking for ways to give me trouble."

Silvan didn't speak. He suddenly realized that Snape didn't seem to be... well, he was still quite annoying. But if one set aside his favoritism, sarcasm, abuse of power, vanity, and obsession with Potter, Snape could actually be considered a competent professor.

At least, that was the case for Silvan.

Because by buying materials from Snape, he could save a large sum on shipping costs. After all, as a professor, it wouldn't be right for him to charge a student a delivery fee.

Furthermore, Snape was a renowned Potions Master with a sharp eye for potion ingredients; anything that passed through his hands would absolutely never be defective or counterfeit.

The only troublesome part was the restrictions, as many things couldn't be purchased.

However, that wasn't much of an issue for Silvan. He hadn't intended to use any contraband materials anyway, and if he really needed them... well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. The Weasley twins would likely be able to help by then.

Just as Silvan was thinking this, three heads suddenly appeared in front of him.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had crept over at some point and were staring at him in unison, seemingly trying to discern something from his face.

"What are you doing!" Silvan instinctively took a step back to put some distance between them.

"Are you and Snape... related?" Harry managed to squeeze out the question after a long pause.

Aside from this reason, he truly couldn't fathom why Snape would help a Gryffindor. Snape hadn't even confiscated those items, but had instead kept them for inspection, promising to return them in the evening if there were no issues.

Harry couldn't wrap his head around why a few bloody Red Cap hearts could be kept for inspection, while a book like Magical Quidditch Balls had to be confiscated immediately.

Thinking about it carefully, the Ollivander Family had a long history. As the Head of Slytherin, who valued pure blood above all else, perhaps Snape really did have some connection to Silvan.

"Don't talk nonsense." 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 really didn't expect you to turn traitor!"

Harry also tightened his face.

They were friends, weren't they? Shouldn't friends stand on the same side?

"I'm warning you, don't speak ill of Professor Snape, or I'll report you." Silvan raised an eyebrow.

Right now, Snape was just like Rubeus Hagrid—one of his vital material suppliers. By comparison, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were people he didn't really know that well, so they shouldn't try to get familiar.

Ron and Harry both turned red.

Although they could tell that Silvan was joking, his words were genuinely irritating.

"Hermione, you aren't allowed to lend him your homework anymore." Ron wanted to pull Hermione to his side to teach Silvan a lesson.

He knew very well that Silvan, like them, always asked Hermione for help when doing homework.

Hermione just thought they were being childish and didn't even look at him.

Later, as they walked back to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron kept rambling on, trying to steer Silvan's misguided thoughts back to the right path.

However, no one paid him any mind. Silvan pretended not to hear, Hermione couldn't be bothered to respond, and Harry was simply too nervous.

The Quidditch match was about to start, and his heart raced every time he thought about it; he couldn't even eat.

That evening, the Gryffindor common room was rowdy, with everyone looking forward to the match the next day.

As Silvan stepped out of his dormitory, a figure darted over quickly.

"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 you had a book confiscated, too."

"If it's possible, could you help me get it back?" Harry asked in a low voice.

He had thought about going himself, but Snape had been giving him trouble almost every day lately, and he really didn't want to see that face.

Since Silvan happened to be going to the Potions office, he thought he might ask him to help.

"I'll try," Silvan said dismissively.

If someone else had asked, he wouldn't have minded trying to put in a word, but Harry...

Snape's feelings toward Potter were different. Never mind a book; even a piece of parchment wouldn't be easy to get back.

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

"Enter." Snape's voice came from inside.

Silvan pushed the door open and walked in.

The office was chilly and dimly lit, with the walls covered in all sorts of bizarre potion ingredients.

Snape sat behind a desk of indeterminate color, waving his wand to place what could only be described as a barrel-sized glass jar onto the table.

What was inside the jar... was it blood?

Silvan wasn't sure, but he saw a piece of white bone protruding from behind the desk.

Nighttime, a gloomy dungeon classroom, collected unidentified liquids, bones scattered across the floor, and a professor wiping his hands.

Silvan suddenly didn't want his items anymore, and he wondered if it was too late to run.

"Your things are on the desk." Snape lifted his eyelids. "Take them and go. That kind of inferior trash—if it were me, I would have thrown it away."

Silvan didn't mind Snape's sarcasm and lunged forward to grab the bag.

Regardless of whether it was inferior, he had paid for it, and he couldn't let it go to waste.

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

"Wait a moment." Snape suddenly called out. "Go find Rubeus Hagrid and tell him to come here. You know who Rubeus Hagrid is, right?"

"Of course, Professor, I do." Silvan said, turning to walk toward the door.

But just then, he noticed a familiar object leaning against the door: a wooden club about four feet long.

The reason it was familiar was that Silvan had seen it before—in the hands of a troll.

The image of the troll dragging the club as it ran toward him had been so shocking that Silvan still couldn't forget it, so he was certain that it was the troll's weapon.

But after the troll fell, this club had been dropped in the corridor. How did it end 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 further and walked quickly out of the office.