Chapter 121: The Assistant (3)
Passing through the wall adorned with serpent carvings, they entered the depths of the Chamber of Secrets. The massive basilisk had already been partially dissected by Snape. Its head had been severed, its skin peeled and neatly stacked to one side, and several barrels of basilisk blood were lined up in an orderly manner. The air was thick with the stench of blood. But Orli didn't feel uncomfortable; on the contrary, everything before her seemed like a treasure trove. These were rare and invaluable potion ingredients, and this basilisk, being a thousand years old, made its materials all the more potent.
Snape glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, seemingly satisfied with her reaction. Orli shrank her neck under his gaze; she had no doubt that if she had gagged or screamed, he would have Petrified her on the spot and tossed her aside.
# Snape: "The body has been dealt with. Only the head remains."
Snape walked over to the basilisk's car-sized head, donned a pair of gloves, and pried open its jaw, clicking his tongue as he did so.
# Snape: "Look at the mess you've made. Potter destroyed the basilisk's brain, and Weasley tore off its tongue. Hah, how could I expect their troll-sized brains to comprehend the value of these things? The fact that they managed to keep themselves alive is already a miracle granted by Merlin."
Standing beside him, Orli observed the carnage inside the basilisk's mouth and wisely kept silent. In the dim light, she noticed his gloves—pure black, seemingly the pair she had given him for Christmas.
# Snape: "Waters, come here."
He pulled out a bundle of glass vials capped with rubber stoppers from his pocket and handed them to Orli, along with a pair of reddish-brown gloves.
# Snape: "You'll collect the venom. Do I need to remind you what happens if you get scratched by a venomous fang?"
## Orli: "Basilisk venom is fatal, Professor. I'll be careful."
Orli put on the gloves. To her surprise, they fit perfectly.
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Whenever Orli started working, she tended to lose track of time. By the time she finished collecting the venom and stood up, she realized that Snape had already cleaned up the basilisk's other parts. The Chamber was now spotless, and the stench of blood had completely vanished. He seemed to have used some sort of magical storage device with spatial properties to pack everything away.
# Snape: "Let's go."
He took the vials from Orli and led her back to the surface. His mastery of the Levitation Charm was impeccable; on the way back, Orli didn't bump into anything.
## Orli: "Aren't you going to the feast?"
At the entrance to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Snape headed straight toward the dungeons. Orli took a couple of steps after him and removed the reddish-brown gloves from her hands:
## Orli: "Here are your gloves!"
# Snape: "Keep them."
Snape spat out the two words stiffly and disappeared around the corner.
Orli smiled faintly and slipped the gloves into her satchel. Her fingers brushed against a cool potion vial inside—a single ounce of basilisk venom she had secretly kept. If another of Voldemort's Horcruxes appeared near her, she now had a way to deal with it.
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"The Gloves' Little Theater"
(To celebrate the conclusion of the second year, here's a little fluff.)
Let's turn back time with a Time-Turner to a week before Christmas.
Despite the heavy snowfall outside, the festive atmosphere had transformed Hogsmeade into a winter wonderland. Even the streetlights seemed less dim, and many shopfronts were adorned with red and green baubles.
Snape had originally planned to restock his potion supplies before the streets became too crowded for the holidays. However, a pair of gloves in a shop window caught his attention.
The pair of small gloves in his office had become worn and tattered. The thought popped into his mind suddenly.
# Snape: "Shopkeeper, give me another pair of small gloves."
Snape rapped his knuckles on the glass counter.
"What color, sir? We have black and reddish-brown." The shopkeeper pulled out a pair of each.
# Snape: "Of course…"
The word "black" was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back. Instead, he said:
# Snape: "…reddish-brown."
He didn't like anything in warm tones, especially this reddish-brown leather. It reminded him of those annoying Gryffindor students. And yet, there was one foolishly arrogant and reckless Gryffindor who insisted on flitting around in front of him every weekend.
"Is it a Christmas gift, sir? Let me wrap it up for you." The shopkeeper, smiling warmly, selected a box from behind the counter, placed the gloves inside, and tied it with a bow before Snape could protest.
The denial that had been on the tip of his tongue was swallowed once again. Annoyed, he tossed the gift box into his bag of potion supplies and left the shop.
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As for why the reddish-brown gloves didn't reach their intended recipient until summer, that was Dumbledore's fault.
On Christmas morning, Snape had received a gift delivered by Dryncorpse, the plump owl he had purchased from Eeylops Owl Emporium a year ago. The owl had grown so fat it was nearly unrecognizable.
He thought of the gloves in his drawer and was about to send them back with Dryncorpse when a message from Dumbledore arrived.
By the time he left the Headmaster's office, Orli's Christmas gift had turned into a vial of Felix Felicis.
That evening, after finally sending Dryncorpse on its way, the reddish-brown gloves were casually tossed into his drawer.
He picked up the unopened gift from that morning, tore off the wrapping, and froze—
A pair of black gloves lay silently in the box.
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Every weekend after that, he found himself wanting to bring up the matter.
"Waters, throw away those worn-out gloves."
"Waters, get yourself a new pair of gloves."
"Waters, here's a new pair of gloves."
…
Damn it. He couldn't say it.
Why was such a trivial matter so bothersome?
It wasn't until the final days of the term that the gaudy reddish-brown gloves were finally handed to Waters.
And she wanted to return them?
What use did he have for a pair of reddish-brown, small-sized gloves?!
# Snape: "Keep them."
Snape spat out the two words stiffly and walked away briskly.
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Author's Note:
Yes, it's fluff. = =
For the Professor, this level of interaction is practically teetering on the edge of breaking character for sweetness.
In Chapter 97, no one seemed to notice that Orli's Christmas gift to the Professor in her second year was a pair of black gloves. Gloves, "give love"—that was the little Easter egg I planted, hehe. They exchanged gloves in their second year, even though neither of them thought much about it when giving the gifts.
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