What is wrong with him?" Harry muttered in disbelief, watching Snape walk away step by step.
Merlin's beard, he must not have woken up yet—to actually hear Snape agree to help Robert buy things, and contraband at that.
"I don't know," Ron said, rubbing his ears hard.
"It must be out of a Professor's sense of responsibility," Hermione offered.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "I really wish he would remember that sense of responsibility when he's deliberately making trouble for me."
Robert didn't say anything. He suddenly realized that Snape didn't seem to be... well, he was still quite annoying. But if you ignored his partiality, meanness, abuse of power, vanity, and favoritism toward Potter, Snape could actually be considered a qualified Professor.
Anyway, that's how it was for Robert.
Because if he bought materials through Snape, he could save a large sum on shipping costs; after all, it wouldn't look good for a Professor to ask a student to cover a running fee. Besides, Snape was a famous Potioneer with a keen eye for potion ingredients; anything that passed through his hands would never be substandard or counterfeit.
The only troublesome part was the restrictions—many things couldn't be bought.
But that wasn't a big problem for Robert. He hadn't intended to use any prohibited materials anyway, and if he really needed them... well, he'd figure it out then. The Weasley twins would probably be able to help.
While Robert was deep in thought, three heads suddenly appeared in front of him.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had somehow gathered around, staring at him together as if trying to see something written on his face.
"What are you doing!" Robert instinctively took a step back, putting distance between them.
"Are you and Snape... related?" Harry finally blurted out, unable to hold the question in any longer.
Aside from that explanation, he truly couldn't understand why Snape would help a Gryffindor—and not only that, Snape didn't even confiscate the contraband. Instead, he kept the items for inspection and said he'd return them in the evening if there were no issues.
Harry racked his brain but still couldn't figure out why a few bloody Red Cap hearts were deemed acceptable for temporary inspection, while a harmless book like Fantastic Quidditch had to be confiscated outright.
Thinking carefully, the Ollivander family had a long history. And as the Head of Slytherin, who valued pure-blood heritage the most, Snape might actually have some connection to Robert.
"Don't talk nonsense," Robert glanced at him. "Professor Snape is a good teacher, not that snobbish."
"Snape, a good Professor?" Ron shrieked, glaring at Robert. "I really didn't expect you to betray us!"
Harry also looked tense.
They were friends—shouldn't friends stand on the same side?
"I'm warning you," Robert raised an eyebrow, "don't say bad things about Professor Snape, or I'll tell on you."
Now, Snape—like Hagrid—was an important supplier of materials for Robert. In comparison, people like Harry Potter and Ron Weasley weren't really that close. They shouldn't be trying to get too friendly.
Ron and Harry's faces flushed.
Although they could tell Robert was half-joking, his words were still annoying.
"Hermione, you're not allowed to lend him your homework anymore," Ron declared, trying to pull Hermione to his side in a symbolic rebellion.
He knew very well that Robert's homework usually mirrored theirs; they all turned to Hermione for help.
Hermione just gave him a look, found it childish, and ignored him entirely.
Later, as they returned to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron was still chattering incessantly, attempting to correct what he called Robert's "mistaken beliefs."
But no one paid him any attention. Robert pretended not to hear, Hermione wasn't interested in arguing, and Harry was too nervous to care—he was thinking about the upcoming Quidditch match. His heart pounded so fast just thinking about it that he could barely eat.
That evening, the Gryffindor common room was buzzing with excitement. Everyone was anticipating tomorrow's match.
When Robert came out of his dormitory, a figure quickly approached him.
"Robert, are you going to Snape's office now?" Harry asked.
"That's right," Robert nodded. "Do you want to come with me? I remember you also had a book confiscated."
"If possible, could you help me get it back?" Harry asked quietly.
He'd thought about going himself, but Snape had been especially troublesome to him lately, and he really didn't want to see that face again. Since Robert was going anyway, maybe he could help.
"I'll give it a try," Robert said casually, brushing him off.
If someone else had asked, he might've gone the extra mile, but Harry...
Snape's feelings toward Potter were different. Let alone a book—even a piece of parchment wouldn't be easy to retrieve.
After leaving the common room, Robert went downstairs to Snape's office and knocked on the door.
"Come in," Snape's voice called from inside.
Robert pushed the door open and walked in.
The office was chilly and dimly lit, the walls lined with shelves full of strange and exotic potion ingredients.
Snape sat behind a desk of indeterminate color, waving his wand to levitate a glass jar—more like a bucket—onto the desk.
Was that blood inside the jar?
Robert wasn't sure. But behind the desk, he caught a glimpse of something white—was it a bone?
Night, a gloomy dungeon classroom, jars of mysterious liquids, scattered bones, and a Professor calmly wiping his hands—Robert suddenly wasn't so keen on getting his things back anymore. Was it too late to run?
"Your things are on the desk," Snape said, raising his eyelids. "Take them quickly. That kind of inferior rubbish—I would've just thrown it away."
Robert ignored the insult and stepped forward quickly to grab the bag.
Rubbish or not, he had paid for it, and he wasn't going to waste it.
"Well then, Professor, I'll be heading back," Robert said, turning to leave.
"Wait a moment," Snape called suddenly. "Go find Rubeus Hagrid and tell him to come here. You know who Rubeus Hagrid is, right?"
"Of course, Professor. I know," Robert replied, turning to leave.
But then, he noticed something behind the door—a wooden club about four feet long.
It looked... familiar.
Robert had seen it before—in the hands of the Troll.
The image of the Troll dragging the club and running toward them had left such a deep impression that Robert hadn't forgotten it. He was certain that this was the same weapon.
But after the Troll was dealt with, the club had been left in the corridor. So how did it end up here?
"What are you dawdling for?"
Snape's impatient voice snapped Robert out of his thoughts.
"Sorry, Professor. I'll go right away," Robert said quickly and left the office without another word.
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