Chapter 27

In the days that followed, the news that Harry had officially joined Gryffindor's Quidditch team spread through Hogwarts like wind.

Besides the Boy Who Lived, he now had another identity… the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history.

On Friday afternoon, Oliver Wood took him for his first practice.

The training results were kept secret, but that night, the Gryffindor common room held a celebration that lasted until dawn.

As a member of Gryffindor, Silven naturally attended, and he even slipped away to watch a Gryffindor practice match, quietly slipping a broken broom into the very back of the broom cupboard.

It wasn't exactly broken—just a simple replacement of the broomstick shaft, not affecting normal flight… well, probably.

Using the discarded century-old fir wood and the last strand of Professor McGonagall's hair, Silven quickly crafted a second wand.

【Fir wood, wizard's hair, thirteen inches】

【Status: Perfect】

【Trait: Transfiguration +17 (55%)】

As Silven had expected, this wand had no 【Disguise】 anymore, but correspondingly, its base bonus and upper limit for Transfiguration had both increased.

It wasn't clear which was better, since such bonuses became extremely hard to improve once they reached a certain level—55% was the highest Silven had ever seen.

He waved it experimentally, turning the ink bottle on his desk into an elegant teapot.

It felt as effortless as turning a matchstick into a needle, yet the teapot was far more complex, even bearing intricate patterns and engravings.

"Feels good."

Silven decided to give it to Professor McGonagall as a Christmas gift.

Between the wand's own value and its custom craftsmanship, it might even earn him a decent return gift.

Of course, he wasn't after the return gift—it just happened to coincide.

Silven pulled out a sheet of golden hard leather paper from his trunk, folded it swiftly into a long rectangular box, lined it with a piece of black velvet, and placed the wand atop it.

A handcrafted ancient-style wand case—though it cost only two Knuts, its market price was high; in a shop, it would cost five Sickles.

It's all about the thought.

After finishing this, Silven turned his full attention to his own plan.

On the eve of Halloween, the castle was steeped in festive atmosphere; even the most remote corridors carried the sweet, tempting scent of roasted pumpkin.

The first class in the morning was Charms; lessons before a grand feast were usually the hardest to endure, but Professor Flitwick seemed well aware of this.

To stir the students' interest, he finally abandoned dull, everyday spells and chose the Levitation Charm—the one most had been eagerly awaiting.

Especially when Flitwick waved his wand and sent Neville's toad flying wildly around the classroom, it perfectly fulfilled Muggle-borns' fantasies of wizards, giving them ample motivation to learn.

Yet motivation aside, the Levitation Charm was far harder than everyday spells—the difference being roughly like moving from single-digit addition and subtraction to two-digit multiplication and division.

After reiterating the incantation and wrist motion several times, Flitwick divided the class into pairs to begin practice.

Due to seating arrangements, Harry was paired with Seamus; Ron, sitting beside him, could only team up with Neville next door, who looked far from pleased—almost afraid, as if Neville might make his head float away.

Further back was Silven; he had no choice—he was second-to-last in the row, with Hermione last.

To be honest, Silven hesitated inwardly; in his memory, Ron and Hermione's arguments in Charms class were the crucial catalyst for the trio's formation. Now that Ron's partner was Neville, it was uncertain whether the Boy Who Lived could still find his true "brain."

"Silven, what are you thinking about?"

Hermione's voice pulled Silven back to the present.

"Oh, nothing," he said offhandedly, letting go of the thought.

Whatever. Dumbledore's here.

Thinking this, Silven absentmindedly drew his wand, flicked his wrist lightly—then flicked again—"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Compared to the sloppy Levitation Charm on the train, this incantation and motion were far more precise.

The feather before him rose smoothly and hovered five feet above his head.

"Excellent!" Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. "Look everyone—Mr. Ollivander has succeeded! Two points for Gryffindor!"

Hermione's expression darkened; she could cast the Levitation Charm too, but she'd been a fraction slower—otherwise those two points would have gone to her.

But it didn't matter; after all, they were both Gryffindor.

Hermione quickly forgot it, for she had a new problem.

Both members of the same pair had mastered the Levitation Charm, yet the class had only just begun—how to fill the remaining time became the pressing issue.

Hermione decided to help others.

Her first target was naturally Neville.

Earlier, he'd been too tense, swinging too hard and nearly jabbing his wand into Ron's face.

Now they were separated by at least three people; practicing together was impossible.

"Lighten your wrist motion, don't overdo it—it's not hammering a nail… pause clearly: Wing—gar-dium, the middle must be long and distinct…"

Hermione coached Neville for half the lesson, growing exasperated herself, but Neville made no progress—his feather remained utterly still.

"I told you before—his wand's wrong. That's the real issue; pronunciation and motion are minor problems…"

"If you're so capable, then you try," Hermione snapped, turning to glare at Silven.

"Fine. Seven Galleons," Silven held out a hand. "I can't guarantee instant results, but it'll definitely be better than this."

"You're selling wands right now?" Hermione stared at him.

Neville… kept his head down, pretending not to hear.

In truth, he had no desire whatsoever to replace his wand—if he'd wanted to, he'd have done so long ago.

Mrs. Longbottom might be the one most eager for Neville to inherit Frank Longbottom's wand, but if Neville himself insisted on a new one, she would surely relent.

After all, the Longbottoms may have fallen on hard times, but they weren't so destitute they couldn't afford a new wand.

Silven smiled but said nothing.

This wasn't his concern. Out of respect for their former dorm-mate status, he'd warned him twice—that was more than enough. He couldn't nag endlessly, and the more he spoke, the more annoyed the other would become.

In the end, it was up to Neville's own thought—if he wouldn't use it, even if Silven gave him a wand for free, it would be useless.

Of course, that was only one possibility; in reality, he definitely couldn't give them away for free.

Selling them at seven Galleons was already a losing deal—he couldn't even get a subsidy from the Ministry of Magic—and giving them away for free on top of that would be too much.

…

(End of chapter)