Chapter 27: The Charms Lesson Before Halloween

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 stashing a broken broom deep inside the broom cupboard.

It wasn’t exactly broken—just a simple replacement of the broom handle, no impact on normal flight… well, probably.

Using the discarded century-old fir wood and the last strand of Professor McGonagall’s hair, Silven quickly crafted his 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 in return, its base bonus and upper limit for Transfiguration had both increased.

It wasn’t clear which was better—after all, once such bonuses reached a certain level, further gains became extremely difficult; 55% was the highest Silven had ever seen.

He waved it lightly, 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 adorned with intricate patterns and engravings.

“Not bad.”

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

Between the wand’s cost and its custom craftsmanship, he might even get a decent return gift.

Of course, he wasn’t after the 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 box, lined the inside with 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 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 clearly understood this.

To spark the students’ interest, he finally abandoned tedious basic spells and chose the Floating Charm, long anticipated by nearly everyone.

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

Yet motivation aside, the Floating Charm was far harder than basic spells—comparable, perhaps, to 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. In his memory, Ron and Hermione’s arguments in Charms class were the key 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.

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

Whatever. Dumbledore’s here.

Thinking this, Silven casually drew his wand, flicked his wrist lightly—“Wingardium Leviosa!”

Compared to the shaky Floating 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 charm too—she’d just been a fraction slower; otherwise, those two points would’ve gone to her.

But it didn’t matter—after all, it was still Gryffindor.

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

Both members of the same pair had mastered the Floating Charm, yet the class had only just begun ten minutes ago—how to fill the remaining boredom became the priority.

Hermione decided to help someone else.

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—ar-dium, stretch the middle part long and distinct…”

Hermione tutored Neville for half the class, 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 skilled, 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 to replace his wand—if he’d ever seriously considered it, he’d have done so long ago.

Perhaps Mrs. Longbottom most wanted Neville to inherit Frank Longbottom’s wand, but if Neville himself insisted on a new one, she would surely relent.

After all, the Longbottoms might be fallen, but they weren’t so destitute they couldn’t afford a new wand.

Silven smiled but said nothing.

It wasn’t his concern. Out of courtesy for their former dorm-mate, he’d warned him twice—that was more than enough. He wouldn’t nag endlessly; too much advice would only annoy him.

In the end, it was up to Neville himself. Even if Silven gave him a wand for free, Neville wouldn’t use it.

Of course, that was one possibility—reality was, he’d never give it away for free.

Seven Galleons was already a loss-making deal—he didn’t even get Ministry subsidies. To give it away for free would be absurd.

…

(End of Chapter)