Chapter 37: Shrunk Core

Actually, Silven had spent all night last night pondering whether to use the spine as the wand core or the wand shaft.

Historically, the magical world did have bone wands, as well as stone, metal, crystal, mithril, and even gold wands.

Back then, the magical system was chaotic, and wands were almost always custom-made according to the wizard’s own abilities.

It wasn’t until the time of King Arthur that the legendary wizard Merlin organized and systematized his vast magical knowledge, taught it to those around Arthur, and allowed them to pass it on to their own apprentices.

From then on, magic began to spread widely, and due to Arthur’s influence, this transmission gradually became the more authoritative and formal mainstream magic.

This change later manifested in wands themselves… because Merlin’s wand had a wooden shaft, as mainstream magic spread, the bizarre and varied wands gradually vanished.

All these Ollivander family records are documented; if Silven wished, he could find specific data on bone wand shafts.

Using spinal nerves as the core would also make the crafting process considerably easier.

But in the end, Silven abandoned the idea.

How to put it? Mainly because of appearance.

The image of waving a spine during battle was simply too horrifying—it would 100% mark him as a Dark Wizard, and Silven didn’t want to be constantly watched by Aurors.

Besides, for him, turning a spine into a core was troublesome, but not impossible; he could just spend more time on it.

Like using the time others spent watching matches for real work.

At eleven in the morning, the Quidditch match began, but Silven remained unmoved, still tapping and striking around the spine with his wand.

Hagrid, however, was torn.

He now faced two choices: stay and watch Silven, whose behavior was bizarre and resembled a Dark Wizard performing some ritual, or go to the Quidditch pitch to cheer for Harry, who was playing his first match.

Hagrid wanted both, but he couldn’t split himself in two, so he stood there helplessly.

Only when cheers erupted from the pitch five minutes later did Hagrid finally make his decision.

He chose to trust Silven and left the cabin to cheer for Harry.

Even though he thought turning a five-foot bone into a core was absurd, he was willing to believe Silven wasn’t lying to him.

Also, Silven’s place was too boring—nearly two hours of repeating the same motions had nearly put him to sleep.

Watching the match was far more interesting.

Hagrid rushed to the Quidditch pitch just in time to see Harry hurtling downward on his broom.

Then he covered his mouth with his hand as a golden object landed in his palm.

“I caught the Golden Snitch!” Harry shouted, waving his hand high above his head.

“Oh no…” Hagrid silently cried inside—he’d just arrived and hadn’t even found a seat yet; how could the match be over already?

But the next second, he began cheering along with the other Gryffindor students for Harry.

Few Seekers caught the Golden Snitch in their very first match; it seemed Harry truly had talent.

After the match ended, the audience began to leave, and Hagrid followed them back to his cabin.

“You missed an amazing match, Silven,” Hagrid said excitedly. “Gryffindor won. Harry caught the Golden Snitch.”

“Really? That’s too bad,” Silven said without turning around, his tone showing not a trace of regret—purely dismissive.

Until he added a core to a flying broom, he probably wouldn’t care much for Quidditch.

“Wait…”

At that moment, Hagrid suddenly noticed something and walked over curiously to the fireplace.

Was it an illusion? Why did he feel the bone had shrunk by a full circle?

If it had been five feet long and as thick as a bowl before, now it was roughly four feet and as thick as a teacup.

“Did you switch to a new one?” Hagrid couldn’t help asking.

“Where would I get another one…” Silven pulled at his mouth.

If he could just swap it, why would he be running over here every weekend early in the morning? Wasn’t his dormitory comfortable enough?

“Then what’s going on with this?”

“Necessary refinement,” Silven explained. “I just wanted to test this material as a core—not to make a wand for a giant.”

Making a wand for a giant—if word got out, the Aurors wouldn’t wait until tomorrow; they’d throw him into Azkaban overnight.

Some things are bottom lines—the Wizarding Law strictly forbids Centaurs, Giants, Merpeople, Goblins, and House-Elves from using wands; giving them one is a serious crime punishable by imprisonment in Azkaban.

Silven had no intention of provoking the Ministry yet.

Hagrid stepped closer to inspect it and realized there were no signs of wear or disassembly—the bone had shrunk uniformly in proportion.

“How did you do that?”

“A trivial little trick,” Silven rubbed his wrist.

“Oh, I see,” Hagrid said with an expression of sudden understanding. “This must be an Ollivander technique—truly amazing.”

“Sort of,” Silven said, offering no further explanation.

The standard Ollivander core methods couldn’t handle a giant’s spine—it was a unique talent only he possessed; wizards might more easily accept the explanation as… Ma Kusi?

But on the other hand, Silven was an Ollivander too, so Hagrid’s words weren’t wrong.

“What are you planning to do next?” Hagrid poured Silven a cup of tea. “Keep shrinking it?”

“Wait a bit—I need to rest,” Silven took the cup and sipped; the pine needle tea tasted odd, but acceptable.

Due to his young age, his magical power and stamina couldn’t yet sustain him to complete such a high-difficulty task in one go.

But Silven wasn’t in a hurry; during this time, he could conveniently make the wand shaft.

Silven looked toward the nearby table.

An hour earlier, Hagrid had retrieved the giant’s wooden club and placed it there.

Silven walked over, gripped the club with both hands, and prepared to move it for preliminary shaping.

But embarrassingly, the first time he couldn’t budge it; the second time, his face turned red, and the club only trembled slightly.

“Need help?” Hagrid set down the filled copper kettle on the stove and walked over.

“No, no,” Silven quickly waved his hand, feigning ease. “I was just… checking the material. This giant had good taste—he picked oak.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I’m a wizard,” Silven pulled out his wand.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club floated up and landed before Silven with a dull thud.

Silven raised an eyebrow—magic was clearly better.

“Knock knock…”

At that moment, a knock came at the door.

“Hagrid, are you home? We came to visit you!”

(End of Chapter)