Chapter 37: The Shrinking Wand Core

Actually, Silven had been thinking for a long time last night, torn over whether to use the spine as the wand core or the wand body.

In the history of the Wizarding World, there actually were bone wands, as well as stone, metal, crystal, mithril, and even gold wands.

That was because the magical system was very chaotic back then, and wands were basically custom-made according to one's own abilities.

It wasn't until the later era of King Arthur that the legendary wizard Merlin organized and summarized his own vast, sea-like magical knowledge, passed it on to the people around King Arthur, and allowed them to pass it on to their own apprentices.

From then on, magic began to be transmitted on a large scale, and because of King Arthur's influence, this kind of transmission gradually became the more authoritative and formal mainstream magic.

Later, this change was also reflected in wands... Because Merlin's wand had a wooden body, as mainstream magic spread, those bizarre and varied wands gradually disappeared.

The Ollivander family has records of all these, and if Silven wanted, he could find specific information on bone wand bodies.

And using the spinal nerve as the wand core would also make the crafting considerably easier.

But in the end, Silven still gave up on that.

How should he put it, it was mainly an image problem.

The sight of waving a spine around in battle was just too horrifying—he'd be taken for a dark wizard for sure, and Silven didn't want Aurors watching him every moment.

Besides, for him, making the spine into a wand core was a bit troublesome, but not impossible; at worst he'd just have to spend more time on it.

For example, using the time other people spent watching matches on something productive.

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

Only Hagrid was in a difficult spot.

He now faced two choices: one was to stay and watch Silven, whose bizarre behavior looked exactly like a dark wizard performing some kind of ritual; the other was to go to the Quidditch pitch and cheer for Harry, who was playing his first match.

Hagrid wanted to pick both, but he couldn't split himself in two, so he could only stand there fretting helplessly.

Until five minutes later, when waves of cheers came from the direction of the pitch, and Hagrid finally made his decision.

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

Even though, in his view, making a five-foot-long bone into a wand core was a ridiculous thing, he was still willing to believe Silven hadn't lied to him.

And besides, it was too boring over here with Silven—nearly two hours of the same repetitive motions, he was nearly falling asleep watching.

Watching the match was more interesting.

Hagrid hurried to the Quidditch pitch and just happened to see Harry riding his broomstick in a rapid dive toward the ground.

Then he clapped a hand over his mouth as something golden dropped into his palm.

"I caught the Snitch!" Harry shouted, raising his hand high above his head and waving it.

"Oh, no..." Hagrid shouted inwardly too. He'd only just arrived and hadn't even found a spot yet—how could the match already be over!

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

It was rare for a Seeker to catch the Golden Snitch in their very first match; looks like Harry really did have talent.

The match ended, the spectators filed out, and Hagrid followed them back to his cabin.

"You missed a wonderful match, Silven," Hagrid said excitedly. "Gryffindor won, and Harry caught the Golden Snitch."

"Did they? What a shame." Silven said without even turning his head, and not a trace of regret could be heard in his tone—it was pure perfunctoriness.

Until he added a wand core to a flying broomstick, he would probably find it hard to get interested in the sport of Quidditch.

"Wait..."

Just then, Hagrid suddenly noticed something and walked over to the fireplace, puzzled.

Was it his imagination? Why did it feel like this bone had shrunk a size?

If the thing had been five feet long and bowl-mouth thick before, now it was only about four feet long and teacup-thick.

"Did you switch it for a new one?" Hagrid couldn't help asking.

"Where would I get a new one from..." Silven twitched the corner of his mouth.

If he could switch it, would he still need to come running over here early on a weekend morning? Wouldn't his dormitory be more comfortable?

"Then what's going on with this one?"

"Necessary processing," Silven explained. "I just wanted to challenge myself with this material as a wand core; it's not like I'm really making a wand for a giant to use."

Making a wand for a giant... if word of this got out, the Aurors wouldn't even wait until the next day—they'd have him thrown into Azkaban overnight.

Some things are a hard line. The Wizard's Code stipulates that centaurs, giants, merpeople, goblins, and house-elves are absolutely forbidden from using wands; even giving them wands is a serious crime punishable by Azkaban.

Silven didn't have any plans to provoke the Ministry of Magic for the time being.

Hagrid couldn't help stepping forward to look, and only then noticed there wasn't a single scratch or disassembly mark on this spine—it had shrunk uniformly, in equal proportion.

"How did you do it?"

"A little insignificant trick," Silven said, rubbing his wrist.

"Oh, I get it," Hagrid said, a look of sudden understanding on his face. "This must be a trick only an Ollivander has, amazing."

"I suppose so," Silven said, without explaining further.

The wand-core crafting methods commonly used by Ollivanders couldn't handle a troll spine this large; this was a special talent only he possessed. In a way wizards would find easier to accept... a Core Magus?

But on the other hand, Silven was also an Ollivander, so Hagrid's words weren't exactly wrong.

"What are you planning to do next?" Hagrid poured Silven a cup of tea. "Keep making it smaller?"

"Hold on, I need to take a breather." Silven took the cup and had a sip. Pine-needle tea tasted a bit odd, but it was acceptable.

Because he was still too young, his current magical power and stamina couldn't support him completing this highly difficult work in one go.

But Silven wasn't in a hurry either; during this break he could conveniently make the wand body.

Silven looked toward the table not far away.

An hour earlier, Hagrid had already retrieved the troll's club and put it on that table.

Silven walked over, gripped the club with both hands, and prepared to move it somewhere else to do some rough processing first.

But embarrassingly, he couldn't budge it on the first try; on the second, his face went red with effort, and the club only wobbled slightly.

"Need a hand?" Hagrid set the copper kettle filled with water on the stove and stood up to walk over.

"No need, no need." Silven quickly waved his hand with feigned ease. "I was just… checking the material, that's all. This troll has quite the eye — it actually picked an oak wand."

"Is that so?"

"Of course. I'm a wizard, after all." Silven took out a wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The wooden stick floated up and landed in front of Silven with a dull thud.

Silven raised an eyebrow. Magic really was more convenient after all.

"Knock knock…"

Just then, a sudden knock came from outside the door.

"Hagrid, are you home? We've come to see you!"

(End of chapter)