Chapter 34: The Horrifying Office

"What on earth was that about?" Harry muttered in disbelief, watching Snape walk away. Merlin above—he must still be dreaming. He had just witnessed Snape agree to help Harold buy something. And not just anything, but restricted items. "No idea," Ron said, rubbing his ear furiously. "Probably just acting on his responsibility as a teacher," Hermione offered. Harry snorted. "I just wish he remembered that sense of responsibility when he's deliberately picking on me." Harold didn't say a word. He had suddenly realized that Snape might not be so... well, okay, he was still quite annoying. But if you looked past the bias, cruelty, abuse of power, vanity, and his obsession with the Potters—Snape could actually be considered a competent professor. At least in Harold's eyes. Because buying materials through Snape saved him a fortune in shipping. And hey, what kind of professor charges a student for delivery? Plus, Snape was a renowned Potions Master. Anything he approved would be top-quality—never fake or second-rate. The only catch was the restrictions. Some things were simply off-limits. But that wasn't a big deal for Harold. He didn't intend to use illegal materials anyway. And if he ever did need something shady... well, the Weasley twins would surely be able to help out. He was just thinking that when three faces suddenly appeared right in front of him. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had somehow all crowded into his personal space, peering at him intently like they were trying to read his mind. "What are you doing?" Harold instinctively stepped back, putting a little distance between them. "Are you and Snape... related or something?" Harry finally blurted out. It was the only explanation that made sense. Why else would Snape help a Gryffindor—and not confiscate the materials? Instead, he was checking and storing them to return later if they passed inspection. Harry couldn't wrap his head around it. Bloody redcap hearts were fine to "hold and inspect," but a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages had been immediately confiscated? The Ollivander family was ancient. And knowing Snape, who prized pureblood heritage above all, maybe there really was some connection between him and Harold. "Don't be ridiculous." Harold shot Harry a sideways glance. "Professor Snape is a good teacher. He's not that petty." "Snape? Good?" Ron shrieked, eyes wide. "I can't believe this—you've betrayed us!" Harry was frowning too. They were friends! Weren't friends supposed to stick together? "I'm warning you," Harold said, raising an eyebrow. "Say one more bad word about Professor Snape, and I will report you." Snape was just like Hagrid now—one of Harold's most important material suppliers. Compared to that, who were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley? Practically strangers. No need to cozy up to them. Ron and Harry both flushed red. Sure, they could tell Harold was partly joking... but still, it was annoying. "Hermione, don't lend him your homework anymore," Ron muttered, trying to drag her into their side. He knew Harold got help from Hermione just like they did. If she refused to share notes, maybe they could punish him a little. Hermione just rolled her eyes at the childish suggestion and didn't even bother replying. When they returned to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron was still ranting, trying to convince Harold that his thinking was deeply flawed. No one paid him any attention. Harold pretended not to hear. Hermione couldn't be bothered. Harry was too anxious to care. The Quidditch match was tomorrow, and just thinking about it made his heart race. He couldn't even eat. That evening, the Gryffindor common room was buzzing with excitement. Everyone was eagerly awaiting the match. Harold had just stepped out of the dormitory when a figure rushed up to him. "Harold, are you going to Snape's office now?" Harry asked. "I am," Harold nodded. "Want to come? I think you had a book confiscated too." "If possible... could you ask him to return it for me?" Harry said quietly. He had planned to go himself. But Snape had been on his case every day this week, and frankly, Harry couldn't stomach another confrontation. Since Harold was already going, maybe he could help. "I'll try," Harold replied casually. If it were anyone else asking, he'd probably make the effort. But Harry... Snape's feelings toward the Potters were... complicated. Forget a book—Harry would be lucky to get back a single sheet of parchment. Leaving the common room, Harold headed down to Snape's office and knocked on the door. "Come in," came Snape's cold voice from inside. Harold pushed the door open. The office was cold and dimly lit. The walls were covered in shelves stacked with all kinds of bizarre potion ingredients. Snape was seated behind a desk so discolored its original hue was unrecognizable, levitating what looked more like a barrel than a jar onto the tabletop. Inside the giant glass container... was that blood? Harold couldn't be sure. But just behind the desk, a stark white bone was poking into view. Nighttime. A gloomy dungeon. Unidentifiable fluids. Scattered bones. A professor wiping his hands. Suddenly, Harold wasn't quite so eager to get his package back. Was it too late to bolt? "Your things are on the table," Snape said without looking up. "Take them and go. If it were up to me, I'd have tossed that low-quality garbage out." Harold ignored the insult and lunged forward to grab his bag. Cheap or not, it was stuff he'd paid for—and he wasn't about to waste it. "Thank you, Professor. I'll be heading back now," Harold said, already inching toward the door. "Wait." Snape's voice stopped him cold. "Go find Rubeus Hagrid and send him here. You do know who that is, right?" "Of course, Professor," Harold replied, already reaching for the doorknob. But then he noticed something behind the door—a large, familiar wooden club, nearly four feet long. It looked familiar because Harold had seen it before—in the hands of a troll. The memory of that beast charging down the corridor with the club in hand was still vivid in his mind. That was definitely the same weapon. But after the troll had fallen, the club was left behind in the hallway. How had it ended up here? "What are you waiting for?!" Snape's sharp voice snapped Harold out of it. "Sorry, Professor. I'm going now," Harold said quickly, turning on his heel and hurrying out of the office. (End of Chapter)