Chapter 41: Are You Planning to Play Baseball?

Harry was getting restless.

If that wand isn't in Silven's hands, what about Ron's Christmas gift? It seems there's no time to prepare anything else now.

"Can you make another one?" Harry asked cautiously.

"I could, and the materials are all ready," Silven said. "But are you sure? A wand isn't parchment—another one you make might not suit Ron at all."

"Then what do we do…"

"Don't rush. We can try. The day after tomorrow is Christmas, and my grandfather probably won't go far." Silven glanced out the window.

"If everything goes well, we should make it in time." He stood up. "Come on, let's head to the owlery first and see if there's a stronger messenger."

"Use Hedwig," Harry said.

"Huh?"

"My owl, Hedwig," Harry said. "She's a Snowy Owl!"

"Oh, perfect," Silven slapped his forehead.

Harry had an owl—he'd forgotten that. And Snowy Owls cost twenty Galleons, among the most expensive pets in the shop; their flight speed and endurance were naturally far superior to ordinary owls.

Silven wrote a letter, then went with Harry to the owlery to find the beautiful Snowy Owl.

True to its twenty-Galleon price, it stood out in the owlery like a spotlight—you spotted it at a glance.

Seeing Harry, Hedwig flew over immediately and nipped his fingers affectionately, making Silven envious.

He thought of his own, always wandering off, never around, obsessed with how to cook his colleague Tom the cat.

Pfft—he shouldn't have been cheap in the first place.

…

Silven and Harry arrived at the Great Hall only ten minutes after dinner started; though late, at least they wouldn't go hungry.

Ron found it strange: Harry had said he had something to do—why was he back with Silven?

During dinner, he kept probing indirectly, trying to find out what Harry had been doing, but got no answer.

Harry refused to engage, pretending not to understand; when pushed too far, he frantically invented a homework excuse to brush it off.

Ron still looked unconvinced, but he stopped pressing.

Afterward, the two joined Hermione, whispering about something else.

Silven sat beside them; even though he had no intention of eavesdropping, he caught the gist.

In short, Hermione wanted Ron and Harry to visit the library during the holidays to find someone named Nicolas Flamel.

But asking Harry and Ron to go to the library during the holidays… well, Hermione's idea was admirable.

To celebrate the upcoming holidays, Gryffindor students held a small party in the common room.

Food came from the school kitchen, brought by the Weasley twins: pies, whole roasted chickens, juicy steaks, pumpkin juice, pea biscuits… far more lavish than dinner.

There was also Butterbeer from Hogsmeade.

But only a few had it—more accurately, Fred and George had brought only one bottle for Silven.

Of course, this wasn't because they were closer to Silven; they wanted to know his secret to using multiple wands.

A wizard can use only one wand—that's a universally accepted truth in the Wizarding World.

Of course, some had tried buying a second wand; there were quite a few such people, but they soon discovered the so-called second wand was nearly useless.

The wand behaved normally in the shop, but once held, spellcasting slowed drastically, magical power weakened significantly—it was useless in battle, and even the simplest Scourgify sometimes left behind stubborn residue.

Only after they willingly abandoned their first wand did this change occur; otherwise, they'd just waste over a dozen Galleons.

No one knew why. Even asking at Ollivanders yielded only the vague reply: "The wand chooses the wizard."

Silven's remarks that afternoon had opened a whole new door of magic for Fred and George.

They were desperate to learn—even if they couldn't use three at once, just one in each hand was incredibly tempting.

Silven wasn't stingy; since he'd drunk their Butterbeer, he naturally owed them an explanation.

So he told Fred and George: to achieve this, it's simple—just learn to make wands.

That night, the two actually went straight to the library to find books on wands… though no one knew how long they'd stick with it.

Early the next morning, students going home for the holidays left the castle for the station, and the once-bustling Gryffindor common room grew suddenly empty.

Silven woke early and now sat in an armchair by the fireplace, fiddling with a "baseball bat" split down the middle.

When Harry and Ron arrived, Silven was sketching on it with a crimson feather quill.

"Good morning, Silven," Harry greeted them, sitting beside Ron in another armchair.

These usually coveted seats were free for them today.

Ron found leftover bread and biscuits from last night, skewered them on a toasting fork, and held them over the fire.

Harry frowned, scanning the room for something.

"What's wrong?" Ron handed him a charred biscuit.

"Have you smelled anything?"

"Ah, kind of burnt," Ron said sheepishly.

"No, not that," Harry shook his head, hesitated, then said, "I think I smell blood."

"Now that you mention it, I smell it too," Ron looked up, scanning the room.

"No need to look—it's this," Silven said, showing them the red feather quill.

"You're using blood as ink?" Ron stared, voice full of disbelief.

"Not ink—well, you can think of it as some kind of medium," Silven explained.

"I wanted to ask this earlier," Harry looked at Silven. "Are you planning to play baseball?"

"What's baseball?" Ron asked.

"A Muggle sport," Harry explained. "They use a wooden bat to hit a ball into the air."

"Batter?" Ron immediately thought of his two older brothers, who in Quidditch matches had to use bats to send the ball flying.

"More or less," Harry thought for a moment, "but the bat is much longer, and you're not hitting a Bludger."

"No idea, I've never played," Harry said. "My cousin Dudley bought a baseball bat once, but he never played baseball either, not even once. I guess he just liked the bat for its own sake."

"I've never played baseball either," Silven said. "Actually, this is the wand I'm going to be crafting next."

(End of chapter)