Chapter 21: The Circular Wand: Giving the Professor a Little Shock

Half an hour later, Dumbledore left the Great Hall from the staff table.

Silven watched him, unconsciously recalling that utterly illogical Repairing Charm—unfortunately, he saw no information about wands on Dumbledore.

Perhaps he doesn’t carry it with him, or perhaps the Elder Wand is special.

Snape also left the Great Hall, then Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall…

Here, Silven suddenly stood up.

“Silven, what’s wrong?” Harry and Ron beside him were startled.

“Nothing, I just remembered something.” Silven said casually, then turned and ran out of the Great Hall.

“What’s he going to do?” Ron looked at Harry.

“How should I know?” Harry said.

“Really… utterly bizarre.” Ron muttered, grabbing a chicken leg and shoving it into his mouth.

He hadn’t finished eating yet.

On the other side.

Silven, having run out of the Great Hall, quickened his pace and caught up with Professor McGonagall before she reached the stairs.

“Mr. Ollivander?” Professor McGonagall looked at Silven in surprise. “What do you want? Not again about changing dorms?”

“No.” Silven shook his head. After a moment’s thought, he said: “Forgive me, Professor McGonagall—this may sound impolite, but could you give me a few hairs?”

“My hair?” Professor McGonagall instinctively frowned.

This request had already gone beyond impoliteness—it was extremely outrageous; a wizard with a short temper might even draw their wand on the spot.

In the magical world, a single hair could do many things: most commonly, Polyjuice Potion, or various messy curses and dark magic.

“What do you want it for?” Perhaps because of Silven’s status, or perhaps because of his age, Professor McGonagall did not refuse outright.

“Wand.” Silven said.

“Wand?”

“Yes, precisely—the wand core.”

“…”

Professor McGonagall fell silent for a long time.

How to put it? She had never heard such an absurd request before.

Yet even now, she still did not refuse.

“Come to my office, Mr. Ollivander—if you’ve finished eating.”

“Of course.” Silven said.

Professor McGonagall turned and climbed the stairs; Silven followed closely behind.

The lowest flight of stairs began to rotate upward, and soon they appeared on the second-floor corridor. But it didn’t stop—the stairs kept turning, ascending floor by floor, and Silven barely walked at all before being carried to the eighth floor.

“Hurry up, what are you thinking about?” Professor McGonagall reminded him, pulling Silven back to reality.

“These stairs…” Silven said, “why do they keep moving around after we go up? Several times I nearly reached the classroom, only to be sent back to the eighth floor without noticing.”

“I had the same experience when I was a student.” Professor McGonagall said. “We’re here.”

She pushed open a door at the end of the corridor and stepped inside.

Professor McGonagall’s office matched her personality: simple, clean, with no unnecessary decorations.

Inside stood a spacious desk, neatly arranged with students’ assignments, ink, and quills; beside the fireplace, shelves were filled with books and magazines on Transfiguration.

“So, Mr. Ollivander.” Professor McGonagall walked behind the desk and looked up at Silven.

“I don’t question your research or knowledge of wands, but I’ve never heard that a wizard’s hair can be used as a wand core.”

“It’s just an idea of mine.” Silven explained. “The inspiration came from the French Delacour family.”

“Delacour?” Professor McGonagall said. “Apolline Delacour?”

“Yes. A wizarding family with Veela blood.” Silven said. “Three years ago, my grandfather crafted a special wand for the Delacours, with Veela hair as the core.”

“According to the description in ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,’ untransformed Veela are nearly identical in appearance to wizards.”

“If Veela hair can be used for wand cores, why not a wizard’s?”

Professor McGonagall looked at the radiant Silven; she had intended to say something, but after a pause, she chose a less cutting tone.

“But as far as I know, no one—not even your grandfather—has ever turned a wizard’s hair into a wand core.”

She hoped this would dissuade Silven, make him abandon this fanciful notion.

But Silven didn’t care.

“It hasn’t been done before—that doesn’t mean I can’t do it. I can show you the wand I made.”

Professor McGonagall was about to speak when she saw Silven pull out a… bamboo ring?

Professor McGonagall wasn’t sure what it was.

Although Silven called it a wand, how could a wand be circular?

“African bamboo, core: brain of a five-footed beast, thirteen inches.”

Professor McGonagall’s eyelid twitched.

This bamboo ring is a wand?

But it doesn’t even have a tip.

Seeing that Professor McGonagall still didn’t believe him, Silven casually flicked his wrist.

“Lumos!”

The moment he spoke, a white glow lit up above the bamboo joint.

Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened—but she hadn’t expected this to be just the beginning.

The next second, the bamboo joint to the left and the one to the right also lit up.

Now Professor McGonagall could no longer sit still; she leapt to her feet, so abruptly that she knocked over the ink bottle on the desk…

“Three spells…”

Professor McGonagall hadn’t been this unsettled in years—but a wand emitting three spells at once? This was unthinkable, even shattering her understanding.

“As you see.” Silven said. “Each segment of African bamboo is independent and unsuitable for standard-length wands—until, by accident, I discovered that the brain of a five-footed beast can connect them in another way, like this.”

“Oh, by the way, it can also do this.” Silven flicked his wrist again.

“Reparo.”

The spilled ink bottle returned to the desk; the spilled ink floated back inside.

Now the bamboo ring showed only two glowing white spots.

“So this wand can cast three different spells?” Professor McGonagall was even more astonished, momentarily ignoring that Silven had said “brain of a five-footed beast” instead of the more reasonable “nerve tissue.”

“Theoretically, yes.” Silven said.

“Theoretically?”

“Because it requires extremely precise magical control.” Silven shrugged. “Honestly, right now I can only manage Lumos and Reparo simultaneously—anything more complex won’t work.”

Hearing this, Professor McGonagall quickly calmed down.

Of course—using three different spells at once couldn’t possibly be that simple.

And upon closer thought, the three Lumos lights had been oddly sized.

When the side segments lit up, the central light had shrunk slightly.

Even so, it was astonishing enough—Silven was only in first year; he would surely grow stronger.

Or perhaps… if Dumbledore held this wand…

(End of chapter)