Chapter 18: The Wandmakers Are All Insane

Silven had always had one question: whether a bodiless ghost counted as a wizard, or as a special magical creature.

Or, to be more specific… whether it could be made into a core.

"Perhaps I should try it first," Silven thought to himself, though he didn't know if any ghost would be willing to cooperate.

Carrying this question with him, Silven hastily finished lunch in the Great Hall and went down to the dungeons with the others.

Snape's Potions class.

This time Silven wasn't late, and he got to see the famous scene from his memories as he'd hoped.

"I can teach you how to raise your fame, brew glory, even stave off death — but only on one condition: that you are not the usual fool I have to deal with."

Snape drifted around the classroom like a great black bat, and wherever he passed, not a single person dared lift their head to meet his gaze, nor even dared to breathe loudly.

"Potter, what would I get if I added powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?"

As expected, Snape's target was, of course, Harry once again.

Harry, naturally, didn't know the answer to any of the questions.

Of course — Silven had read "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi," and the questions Snape was asking were basically all around page one hundred and fifty, content meant for third-years.

You expect a newly enrolled first-year to know third-year material?

Don't be ridiculous!

Everyone present, even including the absent Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, couldn't answer it — except for Hermione, that book-memorizing maniac.

"Ollivander!"

Silven was mentally roasting Snape's sinister intentions when his arm was bumped hard by someone; when he turned his head back, he saw Neville trembling like a quail, and Snape with narrowed eyes and a livid face.

"It seems someone believes he has already learned enough and no longer needs to waste his time listening to my class, am I right? Mr. Ollivander."

"Of course not, Professor." Silven forced a smile.

Crap — he'd been too absorbed in watching the show and forgotten that Snape hated people zoning out in his class just as much.

"Is that so?" Snape's face was icy. "Then would you kindly tell Potter what the difference is between aconite and wolfsbane?"

"Ah… aconite belongs to the fumigating class of herbs. It can be baked together with pine needles, cantharis, trefoil flower, and beetle shells; the smoke it releases can make certain wand cores more elastic, and it's most commonly used with willow wood."

"Wolfsbane is the same — they're the same thing."

Silven answered very smoothly, and some students instinctively took out their parchment and quills, ready to note down all these key points.

They really hadn't previewed well enough — they didn't have the slightest impression of any of it.

"Stop! You don't need to write any of this down!" Snape roared.

Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing.

Snape looked at Silven again, the corner of his eye twitching.

To be honest, what Silven said really wasn't wrong.

This content came from Zygmunt Bache's "Book of Potions," Volume Three — "Magical Pairings of Potions and Wands."

Strictly speaking, this wasn't a standard potions text — it was just a love letter Zygmunt Bache had casually written in his youth while pursuing a young woman obsessed with wandlore.

This sort of thing had no reference value whatsoever in potions studies, but Zygmunt Bache was too famous — not only was he the most renowned potions master of the Middle Ages, he had also single-handedly founded the Association of Extraordinary Potionists.

Therefore, even his casual works were later collected, organized, and compiled into "Book of Potions," the most authoritative treatise on potions.

But still — that stuff was completely useless…

Wait, no — Silven was an Ollivander, so this content actually was useful to him!

Merlin's beard!

Snape was miserable — even more miserable than personally awarding Gryffindor fifty points.

He truly wished he'd never read "Book of Potions," so that he could dock points without any hesitation.

But a potions master who hadn't read "Book of Potions"? That was on par with a house-elf not knowing how to sweep, or Dumbledore not loving sweets — it could only qualify as one of the coldest jokes of the century.

"Sit down!" Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and accepted it, glanced at Silven, and turned to walk away.

Aconite — one of the rarest materials, more expensive than dragon's blood by weight — and you want to burn it to fumigate wood? Fumigate wood!

Bah!

These wand-makers are all out of their minds!

Silven blinked blankly, unable to understand why Snape had suddenly gotten angry.

Aconite and wolfsbane were the same thing — he hadn't said anything wrong; he'd even gone ahead and explained the uses.

Silven remembered very clearly: when he was nine, he'd read about this in "Book of Potions," so he absolutely couldn't be mistaken.

Unable to figure it out, Silven could only attribute all of this to Harry.

He must have been dragged into it by association!

But there was good news — for the rest of the entire Potions class, Snape didn't bother him again; even when checking homework, he merely glanced at it briefly and moved on.

"What kind of treatment is this? At least give me a point." Silven looked at the bright pink potion in his cauldron and muttered softly.

A standard boil-curing potion, without a single mistake.

Silven was still quite confident in his own potions skills — after all, as a wandmaker, he often had to prepare corresponding soaking solutions depending on the wand's core material.

That was no simple task; even the general-purpose version he used in his dormitory took nearly six hours to brew.

By comparison, brewing a boil-curing potion was an absolute breeze.

But Snape hadn't even glanced at it.

That petty old bat.

Silven left the dungeon classroom grumbling.

It wasn't so much that he cared about the measly house points — it was that Snape's brazen targeting was simply too much; even an adult would want to wind up and punch him twice.

Silven was, of course, no exception.

"Snape's just like that — completely unreasonable." Ron walked up beside Silven and said quietly: "Fred told me he never gives Gryffindor points."

"That's not right!" Hermione quickened her pace and walked over.

"Silven is the only one who made the Boil Cure Potion. He can't just pretend he didn't see it. We can go find Professor McGonagall."

"Actually, he can." Ron shrugged.

"By the way, can I go with you to see Hagrid?" This question was directed at Harry.

At lunch, Harry received a note — Hagrid was inviting him to tea at three o'clock.

It was just about to turn three now.

"Of course, no problem." Harry said, then looked at Silven again. "Do you want to come along? I remember you said before that you had something to fix for him."

"Ah, yes." Silven nodded. "But I have some other things to do later, so I won't go with you."

"I see, then alright." Harry didn't mind either. After leaving the underground classroom, he departed the castle together with Ron and went to find Hagrid.

(End of chapter)