Chapter 13: The Wand Chooses the Wizard

The wand chooses the wizard… A year ago, Silven, like Hermione, had thought this saying was just an advertising gimmick invented by Ollivander to add mystery.

It wasn’t until last year that he realized things might not be so simple.

And it all began because of one wand—a wand that was both a failure and a success.

Silven remembered it clearly.

【Maple, mooncalf mane, eleven inches】

【Status: Perfect】

【Trait: Slowness—the slower the incantation, the higher the spell’s success rate.】

It was a success because the entire wand had no flaw whatsoever—its condition matched exactly what Ollivander had produced.

But it was a failure because of that absurd slowness trait, the exact opposite of a normal wand’s behavior.

A normal wand—if you cast too slowly, the magic simply dissipates before it can coalesce.

But his… Silven had tested it himself: once his incantation exceeded two syllables per second, the wand would freeze and shut down.

Two syllables per second? A Levitation Charm taking three and a half seconds?

That’s ridiculous!

Silven had always believed this wand would never sell. Ollivander thought the same—until that day, when a special customer walked into the shop.

A depressed Beater, cursed to utter only one syllable per second.

To put it simply, he and that sluggish wand were made for each other—perfectly matched.

He had already prepared himself to abandon being a wizard entirely, yet this one wand completely reversed that fate.

Of course, he could no longer be a Beater—but he could still use magic, avoiding the fate of a Squib.

Thus, Silven sold his first wand—and for the first time, he hesitated: could it truly be that the wand chooses the wizard?

A saying passed down for over two thousand years must have its reason.

And once he accepted this, other things suddenly became easier.

“The wand chooses the wizard. If I can make it, someone must be able to use it—even if not now, then in ten years, or a hundred.”

Silven used this phrase to gradually convince Ollivander to accept his unorthodox wand cores, and even reluctantly helped him procure hinkypunk leg bones, feathers of a dunbird, giant brains, and nose hairs…

Too much.

Silven shook his head quickly.

All he wanted now was to improve his own ability and perfect his unique wand system.

Silven knew his magical talent was limited—though not poor—it could never compare to geniuses like Dumbledore or Voldemort.

To protect himself and his grandfather Ollivander after Voldemort’s return, he had to find another way to increase his strength.

Wands—or rather, those wand traits only he could see—might, if used wisely, open an entirely new path.

Moreover, wandmakers need not fear resistance; they can freely use every wand they create. This, too, was his advantage.

Of course, if he could make a wand stronger than the Elder Wand along the way, that would be even better.

Though difficult, he didn’t need to make it now.

Dumbledore was still alive. No rush.

…

Gryffindor’s common room was far away. Following the new students and the prefect, Silven walked slowly up stairs, pausing twice to pass through doors hidden behind sliding panels and curtains, then climbing a long stretch of stairs.

Along the way, they encountered a peculiar ghost.

A tiny figure with a ghostly form—but one who could touch physical objects.

From Prefect Percy, they learned his name.

Peeves, a mischievous ghost who loved throwing canes or other objects at students’ heads.

But he feared professors—and another ghost named Bloody Baron. Percy merely mentioned the Baron’s name, and Peeves fled.

Silven turned his head, staring thoughtfully at the corner where Peeves had vanished.

Did Peeves have a physical body?

If he did, could Silven pluck his hair?

It was too late now, and too many people were around. Silven decided to find another opportunity to ask properly.

“You should be cautious around Peeves,” Percy warned, leading them onward.

“Bloody Baron is the only one who can control him. Even we prefects can’t make him listen. We’ve arrived.”

He stopped before a portrait at the end of the corridor—a plump woman painted in rich detail.

“Password.”

“Dragon dung,” said Percy.

The portrait creaked and slid forward, revealing a circular opening in the wall.

This was the entrance to Gryffindor’s common room.

To be honest, in Silven’s view, it was enormous—large enough to hold ten wand shops and still have room left, even featuring a spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

The boys’ dormitory was on the second floor.

Five to a room—this was truly not ideal. Honestly, the moment he saw the dorm, his resistance was stronger than it had been in the Great Hall.

Too many people. Doing anything privately would be difficult. Couldn’t Hogwarts just assign more dormitories?

The answer was: yes!

When Silven, half-heartedly, approached Professor McGonagall and requested a single dorm room, the deputy headmistress did not immediately refuse.

“Can you tell me why?” Professor McGonagall set down her quill.

In truth, most Gryffindors preferred communal living, which was why their dorms were the largest.

In contrast, Ravenclaw had the fewest students per dorm—and the most applications for single rooms—

Probably because wise people preferred solitude.

No one expected that on the first day of term, Silven, sorted into Gryffindor, would apply for a single room.

“If I must give a reason, would it count if I said I didn’t want to disturb others?” Silven thought, then said: “I make wands—there’s a lot of noise. At night, after everyone’s tired, I worry I’ll wake them.”

“Making wands…” Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, recalling Silven’s other identity—she hadn’t expected him to begin this work so young.

“Granted.” Without hesitation, she agreed.

The reason was solid, and Gryffindor had spare dorm rooms—no reason to refuse.

“Here is the key to your new dorm,” she said, handing him an old brass key. “Don’t lose it. The door has an anti-lock charm—only this key will open it.”

“Also, I must remind you: if you ever wish to return to your original dorm, you must first obtain your roommates’ consent. Otherwise, I will not approve it.”

“Ah, I understand,” Silven said casually, not caring.

Why would he bother applying for a single room if he wanted to live with others?

…

(End of Chapter)