Chapter 17: Professor Quirrell's Turban

That night, well into the early hours, Silven kept turning over in his mind the reason the wand-making had succeeded.

He thought of many different possibilities, and the most convincing one was that Ron's desperate longing for a wand of his own — that intense emotion — had influenced the final result.

And the odds of that being the case were high.

In the Wizarding World, emotion is also a kind of special magic, and a very important one at that.

A great deal of magic is driven by emotion — for instance, the most famous Patronus Charm requires summoning up a feeling of happiness and a happy memory.

And Apparition — you have to believe with absolute conviction that you can do it, or the spell won't work… what you might call resolve.

All of these are the power of emotion.

If that's the case, then it isn't strange that Ron was able to influence the outcome of the spell.

It's just that those two properties don't seem like a great fit for Ron.

Poisoning Charm, Fire-Scorching Hot, Tarantallegra — they're all Poisoning Charms; they cause trouble, but they aren't lethal.

Is Ron actually any good at that kind of spell?

Probably not, right?

And then there's the Explosive Charm — that's obviously Seamus's trademark… though it could also be the Red Cap's.

That creature loves blowing things up so much, a fire salamander's tail feels steadier by comparison.

In the small hours, Silven, who really couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, rubbed his forehead, changed into his pyjamas, and lay down on the bed.

Forget it — no matter how you look at it, he'd succeeded.

And based on his past experience, once this wand-making succeeded, using the same core again in the future would push the success rate up considerably.

You could call it an unexpected windfall — and not a small one at that.

After all, compared with unicorn and dragon, a Red Cap is genuinely cheap as a magical beast goes — when he bought Red Cap hearts in Knockturn Alley they were sold by the pound, five hearts to a pound, two Sickles, and most of the time the seller would throw in some toad tongues or lizard tails on top.

Roughly calculated, the cost of the heartstring from one Red Cap heart came to… less than twenty Knuts.

Ollivander had always maintained that a core from a dark creature like this was unstable, unable to resonate with a wizard's magic, and that Silven was simply wasting his time.

But he'd actually pulled it off!

"No way!" Silven sat bolt upright in bed.

Whether it was to show off or for some other reason, he absolutely had to write Ollivander a letter…

Sleep? Forget it — get up and have an existential crisis instead!

Silven didn't even wait until the next morning; in the small hours he slipped quietly out of the common room and headed for the Owlery.

Oh, right — on the way he ran into the Weasley twins.

By their account, Mrs. Norris was still in the hospital wing, Filch couldn't hold the fort alone, and this once-in-a-lifetime chance for a midnight wander absolutely could not be missed.

They also affirmed Silven's behaviour, saying he was a Gryffindor through and through.

Mm…

Talking is one thing, but the insults are out of line, you two!

After parting from the twins, Silven hurried to the Owlery, sent off the letter along with the wand, then made his way back to the Gryffindor common room by the same route.

Just as the twins had said, tonight really was a perfect night for a bit of wandering — he didn't run into Filch once the whole way.

But the consequence of all this was that he was late to class the next day — and it was Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class, no less.

"Sorry, Professor — I got lost." Silven stood in the doorway, saying awkwardly.

"That excuse has already been used by Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley." Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together.

"I trust you can offer me a different one — I shouldn't think a first-year from this House needs three maps."

"Sorry, Professor — it won't happen again." Silven sighed.

"I shall hold you to that promise," said Professor McGonagall. "Gryffindor loses two points. Now you'd better find a seat quickly — we're about to begin."

Silven hurried to the very back row and sat down, feeling a little annoyed with himself.

Because of last night's wandering, he had — predictably — overslept.

This was their very first Transfiguration lesson; in other words, he had actually missed Professor McGonagall's famous Animagus transformation scene!

Professor McGonagall would, on the first Transfiguration class of the year, take her seat in the classroom in the form of a tabby cat, then change back into a human in full view of everyone — to give the students a little taste of what Transfiguration could do.

Silven had arrived far too late, and with two other latecomers sitting just in front of him, he had missed the whole thing.

It's all Harry and Ron's fault!

Silven silently resolved to add another Galleon to the price of Ron's wand.

Don't ask why — the answer is simply that he has no sense of fair play.

The content of this lesson was simple — basic Transfiguration: turning a match into a needle.

Of course, "simple" here is relative to the rest of the material in the book; but for the first-years in today's class, even basic Transfiguration was enough to leave them tearing their hair out.

By the end of class, only two people had managed to make their matches change.

One was Hermione; the other was Silven.

And Silven had actually finished first — earning back the two points that had been deducted.

Hermione, though, was rather unconvinced, suspecting Silven had been practising ahead of time.

Of course, he had been.

Most wizards only get their own wand at eleven — that is, just before they start at Hogwarts — but Silven had had a wand at nine, and more than one at that.

What was the point of all the hard work he'd put into making wands, if not to get a feel for magic a little earlier?

If he didn't actually do something with it, wouldn't the wand have been gotten for nothing?

After Transfiguration came Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Quirrell's lesson turned into a complete joke — his thick, extra-long turban forever gave off a strong smell of garlic.

"It smells worse than the potion you soak wand cores in." After class, Seamus offered that assessment.

"Hey, mine is oils of herbs and trees," Silven couldn't help retorting. "A pint costs five Galleons to make."

"That expensive!" Seamus's voice changed.

His entire year's pocket money was only five Galleons!

"What did you think? Making wands is a money-burning trade." Silven said.

"Five Galleons to soak one stick?" Harry asked in surprise.

"That's not it—roughly enough to soak a hundred."

"Huh?"

"That's still more expensive than garlic, right?"

"That is true."

The few of them chatted as they walked toward the Great Hall.

"Oh, right." Harry suddenly thought of something. "Silven, why were you staring at Professor Quirrell the whole time during Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"I was staring at Professor Quirrell? Was I?" Silven blinked.

"Yes, you were, we all saw it." Neville said a word of fairness in a small voice.

"That obvious?"

Everyone nodded together.

In the classroom everyone was doing their own thing—only Silven stared at Professor Quirrell's head the entire class. How could it not be obvious?

"Oh, I was just curious what was under his scarf, whether he was really hiding a string of garlic." Silven said. "Weren't you guys curious?"

"Mm… curious." The few of them nodded honestly.

"…But we wouldn't stare." Harry continued. "Didn't you notice? Professor Quirrell spent the second half of class dodging you."

"Really? Then I'll pay attention next time."

(End of chapter)