Chapter 20: Wand Core Supplier

From morning to noon, then to afternoon.

When Silven raised his head again, eight hours had passed.

He had spent eight full hours repairing this thing—more exhausting than carving a whole new set.

Fortunately, the result was good.

The wand, split into three pieces, reassembled into one whole, and all the spiderweb-like cracks vanished.

During this process, the wand’s original repair spell played a major role, greatly improving Silven’s efficiency.

“Is it fixed?” Hagrid asked nervously.

He had stood there without moving a single step while Silven worked.

“Almost.” Silven pulled out a long-necked bottle filled with green liquid and placed the wand inside.

“The Rejuvenating Elixir promotes secondary growth of the wand core, healing the broken parts. Combined with the original repair spell, your wand should be restored to its original state in about a week.”

“Really?” Hagrid’s eyes lit up as he carefully took the bottle from Silven.

“Of course,” Silven said. “You can use the wand if you need to—it won’t interfere. Just put it back in here afterward.”

“That’s wonderful—I don’t even know how to thank you…”

“That’s simple,” Silven smiled, not hiding his intent. “Just bring me some materials from the Forbidden Forest related to magical creatures.”

He had wanted this for years, but never had the chance to meet Hagrid before.

“Of course, no problem,” Hagrid agreed without hesitation, fumbling around until he found a dirty mat.

“What about this?”

Hmm… a mat woven from unicorn hair.

“Forget the unicorn,” Silven shook his head and declined.

His grandfather Ollivander had already confirmed: the best unicorn core material is the full tail hair. Silven could crush other parts into cores, but there was no need.

They’re the same magical creature—if tail hair is a perfect 100-point core material, any other part, even crushed into a core, would only reach 70—or even 50.

Why waste time making an inferior product when the perfect one is available?

Unless Hagrid could get a unicorn’s heart… but even Ollivander couldn’t obtain one. Unicorns dissolve into the earth within moments of death—he didn’t dare hope for it.

Then Silven told Hagrid his requirements.

Aside from unicorn, he only wanted tail hair; everything else was acceptable—shells, scales, hair, teeth. He was open to anything. Dead magical creatures were even better.

Hagrid hesitated for a long time.

“This is wandmaking,” Silven said softly. “My grandfather spent ten years finding the three best core materials for him: unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring.”

“At the same time, this is the process I must repeat—I must find my own core materials.”

“But didn’t Mr. Ollivander already find them?” Hagrid asked, puzzled. “Can’t you just use those cores?”

“I could,” Silven said. “But then I’d never become the greatest wandmaker.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not my grandfather,” Silven said. “Let me put it this way: during my great-grandmother’s time running the shop, wizards typically used thunderbird feathers, basilisk stingers, and grindylow manes.”

“Can those be used to make wands?” Hagrid asked.

“Of course,” Silven said. “Grindylow manes make the best Transfiguration wands. Basilisk stingers double the power of dark spells. But my grandfather disliked them—he always said grindylow manes smelled like seaweed.”

Hagrid listened with fascination—he had never known such a story about the Ollivander family.

He had always assumed the thousands of wands in Diagon Alley’s shop, and their methods, had been passed down through generations.

“So you’re also searching for your own core?” Hagrid began to understand.

“You could say that,” Silven nodded hesitantly.

His situation was different—he couldn’t be called a traditional wandmaker.

After all, neither his grandfather, nor his great-grandmother, nor anyone else in the family line for dozens of centuries had ever shoved a toad tongue into a wand.

So he had far more possibilities to try—and he had to start preparing as early as possible.

The Forbidden Forest was an excellent choice. With Hagrid’s help, he wouldn’t have to worry about danger—two benefits in one.

In the evening, Silven left Hagrid’s cabin.

Hagrid had agreed to his request—and promised to help him find the nest of the Tree-Keepers.

After all, once the core was secured, the wand shaft couldn’t be neglected. To Hagrid, these were trivial matters—he could handle them while patrolling the Forbidden Forest.

But Hagrid repeatedly warned Silven: he must not sneak into the Forbidden Forest himself, or he would refuse to help again.

Silven agreed without hesitation.

He was only in first year—he’d be insane to enter the Forbidden Forest alone. Letting Hagrid help was the safest option.

When Silven returned to the castle, it was just dinner time.

Because it was the first weekend after term began, the Great Hall was bustling. Even Dumbledore was there, sitting at the staff table chatting amiably with Snape beside him.

To the left were Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout.

“Hey, Silven…”

Harry waved from across the hall. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you all day.”

“I was at Hagrid’s,” Silven said. “Remember? I had to help him fix something.”

“Hagrid…” Harry paused, then instinctively glanced at Ron beside him.

Ron was looking at him too.

But when their eyes met, both immediately looked away.

No wonder these two couldn’t keep a secret—they looked so suspicious, even Neville could tell something was off.

But since Harry didn’t ask, Silven didn’t press.

He wasn’t interested in the Boy Who Lived’s curiosity about the magical world right now—he had more important things to do.

Dinner was more lavish than usual, with corn soup and large pan-fried steaks, and the taste was quite good.

Beside him, Harry and Ron were discussing Draco Malfoy from Slytherin. Silven overheard a few words—they’d run into each other in the hallway that morning and had a verbal clash.

Ron even asked Silven’s opinion, but Silven said nothing.

In fact, ever since he was sorted into Gryffindor, Malfoy’s enthusiasm toward him had plummeted—they hadn’t spoken since.

Yet for some reason, Malfoy still hadn’t returned his deposit—the money he’d paid on the train for the color-changing spray.

About thirty Galleons.

He neither canceled the order nor paid the balance—as if he’d forgotten it entirely.

But Silven wasn’t in a hurry. He was even less in a hurry.

…

(End of Chapter)