Chapter 22: Dumbledore Is Looking Forward to It

It was hard to say what Professor McGonagall was thinking right now—even she couldn't clarify it herself.

Half an hour later, Silven left the office successfully with five of Professor McGonagall's hairs.

Soon after, Professor McGonagall herself left, walking through two corridors to reach the headmaster's office on the eighth floor.

What had happened today was too unbelievable; she needed someone to help her sort it out, and Dumbledore was the best choice.

The headmaster's office was blocked by an ugly gargoyle.

"Toad Sweets," said Professor McGonagall.

The gargoyle stood up and stepped aside, revealing a spiral staircase rising behind it.

Professor McGonagall stepped onto it and was quickly carried to the top, stopping before a door of oak.

She raised her hand and knocked; Dumbledore's voice came from inside almost immediately.

"Come in, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall pushed open the door; Dumbledore stood before a bookshelf, wearing a pink pajama set printed with strawberry patterns and a matching pointed hat—also pink.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

Perhaps used to it by now, Professor McGonagall showed no surprise at the headmaster's cake-like attire and got straight to the point, recounting her experience from half an hour earlier.

"If a wizard's wand core is made from his own hair, they will surely become the most perfectly attuned partners—responsive as an extension of the arm, invincible in battle…" Dumbledore pushed up his spectacles with interest.

"He really said that?"

"Yes," Professor McGonagall nodded. "But Dumbledore, is this even possible? Using a wizard's hair as a wand core?"

"Didn't you already witness another impossibility?" Dumbledore countered. "Simultaneously casting three different spells—something unheard of."

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it," Professor McGonagall sighed.

In fact, even after seeing it, she still had doubts—otherwise she wouldn't have rushed here so urgently.

"Ollivander's craftsmanship is truly exceptional, but why have I never seen a wand like this before?"

"No, Minerva, I think this has nothing to do with Ollivander—or rather, nothing to do with Garrick Ollivander," Dumbledore said, walking to a table covered in silver objects and falling into a moment of recollection.

"I just remembered something interesting."

"Something interesting?"

"It was a year ago, when I was searching for a suitable Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the school."

"Sorry, Headmaster," Professor McGonagall interrupted him. "When you say 'suitable,' do you mean a wizard wanted by the Ministry?"

"Minerva, your words cut deep," Dumbledore's expression didn't change. "It's already hard enough to find a wizard willing to teach… I must say, thank goodness Quirinus took the class this year—otherwise I'd have been running around for another two months."

"I only hope you can take things a little more seriously…" Professor McGonagall said. "Alright, let's continue."

"Where was I?"

"A year ago."

"Oh yes," Dumbledore said. "A year ago, while visiting an old friend, I happened to meet Garrick Ollivander there."

"My friend told me Garrick was searching for suitable core materials for his grandson, and added that he was a unique genius—a wandmaker who could turn all kinds of unusual materials into wand cores."

"Unusual materials?" Professor McGonagall blinked.

"That's the interesting part," Dumbledore smiled. "I suspect you've overlooked a crucial detail—the core of that round wand was made from the brain of a Pentaped."

Professor McGonagall lifted her head, her eyes flickering, then quickly turned to confusion.

"It seems you've already thought of it," Dumbledore said with a smile. "In our fixed understanding and experience, when we hear 'wand core,' don't we always imagine slender things like feathers that can easily be inserted into the wand shaft?"

"Yes," Professor McGonagall nodded instinctively.

"That's precisely what makes it fascinating," Dumbledore walked to the window. "I once studied wandlore for a while—not expertly, but enough to reach the level of an apprentice."

"In my view, a single nerve from a brain wouldn't be enough to produce extraordinary effects; it would likely behave like a normal wand… but if it's the entire brain, that's another matter entirely—it touches upon alchemical theories of magical medium integrity and complexity."

"Wait, maybe it's not even the full brain—after all, a Pentaped should be able to control five magics simultaneously, yet you only saw three."

"Oh, I see—his core must've been bought from Diagon Alley's backstreets; the things sold there are rarely complete."

"Hold on a moment, Albus," Professor McGonagall quickly stopped him as Dumbledore grew more animated, his eyes brightening. "But how… how did he—Silven—manage it?"

"Minerva, I don't know everything," Dumbledore shook his head. "Wandlore is an arcane knowledge as ancient and mysterious as magic itself. Your question might only be answered by Silven himself."

Professor McGonagall said nothing.

She could never possibly ask a student such a question directly.

A few minutes passed, and Professor McGonagall prepared to leave.

Though many questions remained unresolved, she hadn't come away empty-handed.

Dumbledore knew about Silven—that was enough.

"Wait, Minerva," Dumbledore suddenly called out to her. "Could I ask you a favor?"

"Of course," Professor McGonagall said without hesitation, turning to ask, "What is it?"

"It's just…" Dumbledore suddenly grew awkward. "If Silven really makes you a wand with your hair as the core, could you let me know?"

"Hm?" Professor McGonagall.

"I'm curious," Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps I could ask him to make one for me too."

"Forgive me, Albus…" Professor McGonagall stared at him. "I think you don't need a wand that's responsive as an extension of the arm and invincible in battle."

"Thank you for the compliment, Minerva," Dumbledore's face flushed slightly. "I'm just curious—and my current wand… how shall I put it? Sometimes it's a bit too willful."

Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore for a moment longer, as if judging whether he was joking.

In her memory, it had been ages since she'd seen Dumbledore holding a wand; she'd even wondered if he truly needed one at all.

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded anyway.

"Alright, if that day ever comes, I will."

She didn't promise it outright—she still doubted that hair could serve as a wand core.

(End of Chapter)