Chapter 44: Snowball Fight

Garyan and Lila didn’t stay long in the common room; after about half an hour, they prepared to leave.

They didn’t even join the others for Hogwarts’ Christmas feast.

“We’re meeting Pomona at the Three Broomsticks,” Lila said with eager anticipation, “I’m already looking forward to it… Mrs. Rosmerta’s specially brewed pumpkin flower honey wine.”

Watching her expression and the way she hurried out of Gryffindor common room, Silven couldn’t help but seriously reconsider something she’d just said.

“...came to visit a friend, and just happened to see you.”

Silven had reason to believe this was very likely the plain truth.

After Garyan and Lila left, Silven went to the Great Hall with the others.

“Your parents are quite interesting,” Fred said, walking up to Silven. “How did they get in?”

“Probably through Professor Sprout,” Silven said.

Silven wasn’t surprised they knew the Hufflepuff headmaster.

There weren’t many British wizards who studied magical plants, and even fewer who’d published professional papers; among such a small group, they must have known each other well.

But upon hearing Silven’s answer, Fred’s face flickered with disappointment.

He’d initially thought the two had entered through a secret passage from Hogsmeade.

Parents sneaking into the castle against the rules—such a familiar style, almost exactly like theirs.

And they themselves happened to have a magical map that clearly marked several secret passages from Hogsmeade into the castle.

So when they’d seen two adult wizards in the common room, Fred and George had even suspected they might be the map’s creators—two of Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail.

They’d whispered for a long time, trying to fit those nicknames onto the two men.

Turns out, they’d simply walked in through the front door—law-abiding types.

It was kind of disappointing... well, at least the dried specialty bubble pods were still fun.

The group walked into the Great Hall and were immediately enveloped by the rich aroma of roasted chicken. Even though few students were staying for the holiday, mountains of roasted meats, fried potatoes, and savory sausages still piled high.

Every few steps along the tables, they saw heaps of wizarding party crackers, each bursting open to reveal amusing trinkets; if lucky, one might even pull out the latest model of a flying broomstick.

Of course, the flying broomstick was just a legend—no one had ever actually pulled one out.

Silven casually opened a few, and received a pen that wouldn’t leak ink, a brooch, a pack of glittering balloons, three biting teacup saucers, and... a dried pufferfish?

Silven didn’t understand why a dried pufferfish would be inside a party cracker.

Cat treat?

He tapped the fish against the table—it clacked loudly, just like Hagrid’s rock cakes.

Hmm, not entirely useless—at least you could throw it and knock someone’s head clean off.

The Christmas feast began; all students, regardless of house, sat at one long table. Silven wasn’t particularly interested in roast turkey, a holiday-only dish, but the roasted meat sandwiches and wine-soaked jam puddings were quite good.

In the afternoon, Fred suggested they go outside for a snowball fight. Harry and Ron were the first to respond; Percy, the eldest, thought it childish and initially refused—but Fred and George half-dragged him out of the castle anyway.

Silven watched Hagrid and several professors leave the school; after a moment’s thought, he joined them.

They played in the snow all afternoon, using no magic at all. It was fun, but by the time they panted back to the common room, their clothes were soaked through, and they had to huddle by the fire to warm up.

“Wait, where’s Silven?” Harry looked around while playing wizard’s chess with Ron, suddenly realizing someone was missing.

“No idea,” Fred also scanned the room.

“Was he out there this afternoon?”

“He was!” Ron said firmly, rubbing his shoulder. “I remember clearly—he threw a snowball with a stone inside!”

He was probably the only one injured in the snowball fight, nearly getting his skull cracked by a flying snowball—luckily, he slipped at just the right moment, and the snowball hit his shoulder instead.

“Silven didn’t do it on purpose,” Harry whispered, but his tone was certain.

“How do you know?”

“Because that snowball... I actually made it,” Harry said, suddenly guilty. “You never mentioned it, so I thought nothing happened—but I had no idea there’d be a stone in it.”

Ron stared at him for a moment, then sighed softly. “Forget it. It’s fine.”

“If you mean that first-year student, he went to see the gamekeeper,” Percy suddenly spoke up.

“You saw him?”

“I did,” Percy said. “About an hour ago, after the professors returned from Hogsmeade, I saw him speak to the gamekeeper, then they left together.”

“The gamekeeper... is Hagrid,” Harry said.

“Yes, Rubeus Hagrid—that’s his name,” Percy nodded.

“Strange. Why would he go to Hagrid?”

“What else? It’s got to be about wand-making—he’s obsessed with it,” Ron declared confidently.

“But it’s Christmas,” Fred didn’t understand. “Everyone wants to have fun all day.”

“Silven doesn’t,” Ron said. “He’s obsessed with wand-making—he doesn’t even rest on weekends or holidays. I rarely see him outside his dorm on weekends.”

Fred and George exchanged a glance.

Did wand-making really require this much effort? No holidays at all?

They thought back to the book they’d just borrowed from the library—Wandmaking and Usage Guide—and suddenly, they weren’t very interested in reading it anymore.

To be fair, Ron was right this time—Silven really was making a wand, and he didn’t find it tiring at all.

In the cabin by the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid sat by the fire, sipping hot tea, watching Silven fiddle with a white strand no thicker than a finger.

Hagrid pressed his lips tightly together.

Every time he saw this, he genuinely felt it was unbelievable.

Because a month ago, this “rope” had been a bone two feet long and as thick as a bowl.

Over the past month, he’d watched that giant troll spine slowly transform into this shape.

How on earth had Silven done it?

Hagrid had asked this more than once; Silven hadn’t hidden the answer—he explained it was the crucial step in turning material into a wand core, called the Core Fusion Spell—but Hagrid didn’t understand, even after witnessing the entire process.

He’d always assumed wand-making simply meant stuffing unicorn tail hair into a carved wooden rod.

(End of chapter)