Chapter 17: Professor Quirrell

That night until dawn, Silven kept pondering the reason his wand-making succeeded.

He considered many different possibilities, and the most convincing one was that Ron’s intense desire for his own wand had influenced the final outcome.

And this possibility was very likely.

In the magical world, emotion is also a special kind of magic, and it is extremely important.

Many spells rely on emotion to work—like the most famous Patronus Charm, which requires summoning feelings of happiness and memories.

And Apparition—you must firmly believe in your ability to succeed, or the spell will fail… that is what is called determination.

These are all powers of emotion.

If that’s true, it’s no surprise Ron could affect the spell’s result.

Those two traits just didn’t seem suited to Ron.

Curse spells, Fire-Sting, and Tarantallegra are all curses—they cause trouble but aren’t lethal.

Is Ron skilled in such spells?

Probably not.

And the Explosion Charm—that’s clearly Seamus’s signature… though it could also be the Red Cap’s.

That thing loves to explode; even a fire lizard’s tail is more stable than it.

At dawn, utterly exhausted, Silven rubbed his forehead, changed into his nightclothes, and lay down on the bed.

Forget it—he succeeded, after all.

And based on his past experience, after successfully making a wand this time, future attempts with the same core would see a dramatic increase in success rate.

It was an unexpected gain—and a substantial one at that.

After all, compared to unicorns and dragons, Red Caps are incredibly cheap; when he bought Red Cap hearts in Knockturn Alley, he paid by the pound—five hearts per pound, two sickles—and often got extra toad tongues or lizard tails thrown in.

Roughly speaking, the cost of a Red Cap heart core was… less than twenty knuts.

Ollivander had always believed that wand cores made from dark creatures were unstable and couldn’t resonate with a wizard’s magic, thinking Silven was wasting his time.

But he had actually made one!

“No!” Silven sat bolt upright on the bed.

Whether to show off or for any other reason, he had to write Ollivander a letter…

Still sleeping? Wake up and question your life!

Silven didn’t even wait until morning—he slipped out of the common room at dawn and went straight to the owlery.

Oh, right—he’d run into the Weasley twins on the way.

According to them, Mrs. Norris was still in the hospital wing, and Filch was overwhelmed; this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to sneak out, and they couldn’t miss it.

They also praised Silven’s actions, calling him a true Gryffindor.

Hmm…

Talking is fine, but insulting people is wrong of you!

After parting with the twins, Silven hurried to the owlery, sent off the letter with the wand, then returned the same way to the Gryffindor common room.

Just as the twins said, today was perfect for sneaking out—he didn’t encounter Filch once.

But the consequence was that he was late the next day—during Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration class.

“Sorry, Professor, I got lost,” Silven said awkwardly at the door.

“That excuse has already been used by Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said, lips pressed thin.

“I hope you can give me a different one. I don’t think a first-year needs three maps.”

“Sorry, Professor, it won’t happen again,” Silven sighed.

“I hope you remember that promise,” said Professor McGonagall. “Two points from Gryffindor. Now, hurry and find a seat—we’re starting class.”

Silven strode quickly to the back row and sat down, feeling annoyed.

Because of his late-night outing, he’d predictably overslept.

This was their first Transfiguration lesson—in other words, he’d missed Professor McGonagall’s famous Animagus transformation!

Professor McGonagall always appeared in class as a tabby cat on the first Transfiguration lesson, then transformed back into a human before everyone’s eyes, to give students a small shock of wonder.

Silven arrived far too late, and with two other latecomers blocking his view, he missed the whole thing.

It was all Harry and Ron’s fault!

Silven silently decided to add another Galleon to Ron’s wand price.

Don’t ask why—ask and you’ll find he has no honor.

The lesson’s content was simple: basic Transfiguration—turning a matchstick into a needle.

Of course, “simple” here is relative to the rest of the textbook—but for today’s first-years, even basic Transfiguration was enough to make them scratch their heads.

By the end of class, only two students had made any change to their matchsticks.

One was Hermione; the other was Silven.

And Silven had completed it first, earning back the two points he’d lost.

But Hermione was clearly annoyed, convinced Silven had practiced ahead of time.

Of course, that was true.

Most wizards don’t receive their own wands until age eleven—right before Hogwarts opens—but Silven had his own wand at nine, and not just one.

He’d worked hard to make wands precisely so he could experience magic early.

If he didn’t do something with it, wouldn’t the wand be wasted?

After Transfiguration came Defense Against the Dark Arts—but Professor Quirrell turned the lesson into a farce; his thick, long scarf always emitted a strong smell of garlic.

“Smells worse than your wand-soaking potion,” Seamus remarked after class.

“Hey, that’s herbal and tree resin,” Silven retorted. “A pint costs five Galleons.”

“That expensive?!” Seamus’s voice cracked.

His entire year’s allowance was only five Galleons!

“What did you expect? Wand-making is a money-burning trade,” Silven said.

“Five Galleons for one wand?” Harry exclaimed.

“No, that’s enough to soak about a hundred.”

“Huh?”

“Still more expensive than garlic, though.”

“True enough.”

As they chatted, they headed toward the Great Hall.

“By the way,” Harry suddenly remembered, “Silven, why were you staring at Professor Quirrell during Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“I stared at Professor Quirrell? Really?” Silven blinked.

“Yes, we all saw it,” Neville spoke up quietly.

“Was it that obvious?”

Everyone nodded.

Everyone else in class was doing something—only Silven stared at Quirrell’s head the whole time. How could it not be obvious?

“Oh, I was just curious what was under his scarf—whether he really had a string of garlic hidden there,” Silven said. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Hmm… curious,” they all nodded honestly.

“But we wouldn’t stare,” Harry continued. “Didn’t you notice? Professor Quirrell spent the second half of class avoiding you.”

“Really? I’ll be more careful next time.”

(End of Chapter)