Chapter 45

Silven truly felt that staying at school for the holiday was an incredibly right decision.

It was as if the troll itself knew it was Christmas, giving him a small surprise before night fell.

The Fusion Charm had lost its effect, meaning the troll's spine had truly become a qualified wand core.

Although it still looked a bit too large, it didn't matter—Silven had already anticipated this and specially prepared a wand shaft over two feet long, perfectly matching the core.

He'd originally thought he'd need to adjust it again, but now he didn't have to.

Next came the formal crafting of the wand.

But it was too late; at Hagrid's insistence, Silven had to forcibly grip his restless hands and leave the cabin, glancing back every three steps.

Hagrid saw Silven out the door.

He didn't mind Silven staying—after all, the sounds Silven made while crafting his wand were quieter than Toots's snores and wouldn't disturb him at all.

But Professor McGonagall checked the dormitories at night.

There hadn't been such a rule before; this year was special, since two Weasleys were staying behind, so Professor McGonagall had to be extra vigilant.

Still, seeing Silven's reluctant expression, Hagrid hesitated and turned to glance inside the cabin.

A few minutes later, he pulled on his mole-skin coat and hurried out after him.

Dinner was turkey sandwiches with toasted bread and cranberry sauce—delicious, and everyone enjoyed it.

Only Silven's mind was filled with his completed wand shaft and core; he paid no attention to what he ate.

At the staff table, Dumbledore fiddled with a brown wand, turning it over and over, while Professor McGonagall chuckled happily beside him.

"I've tried it—it's wonderful," Professor McGonagall couldn't help glancing at Silven, who was daydreaming. "Apart from not being usable with my first wand, everything else is perfect—like a new hand."

"Are hair cores really that magical?" Dumbledore murmured in amazement.

Technically, a wizard like Professor McGonagall no longer relied heavily on wands—even wandless magic was no problem.

Yet she had been cheerful all day, and Dumbledore noticed she'd used magic far more frequently than usual—even small spells she'd normally cast without a wand now used Silven's new gift.

"It's magical," Professor McGonagall said. "It feels like part of my body—even some simple charms don't require incantations."

"Nonverbal spells?" Professor Flitwick asked. "That should be easy for you."

"It's different," Professor McGonagall shook her head. "It's not just about not speaking the incantation—it's that when the thought arises in my mind, the magic is already complete."

"Really?" Professor Flitwick's eyes widened in astonishment.

As a dueling expert, he instantly understood what she meant.

No incantation meant instantaneous spellcasting—if Professor McGonagall dueled, she'd gain complete initiative, leaving no chance for her opponent to counter.

As for her claim that only simple charms could bypass incantations… Professor Flitwick ignored it entirely.

Even with the simplest Disarming Charm, he was confident he could overpower any opponent until the end.

"If I were to pay for one, would it offend Mr. Ollivander?" Professor Flitwick was tempted but unsure of Silven's feelings.

Mainly because he knew Garrick Ollivander in his youth and remembered how stubborn the man had been—making wands only by mood and preference… until he took over the wand shop in Diagon Alley.

"This…" Professor McGonagall hesitated, unable to answer.

Would Silven feel offended? She didn't know—she couldn't say.

But then…

Professor McGonagall's gaze dropped, unintentionally glancing at the top of Flitwick's head.

It was common knowledge that Professor Flitwick had some goblin blood, and goblins typically had little to no hair.

Perhaps because of this, Flitwick's hair looked… well, not exactly thick.

Professor McGonagall wasn't sure if it even met the core requirements—after all, her own wand was nearly twelve inches long.

On the other side, Dumbledore quietly adjusted his spectacles, only to spot someone unexpected peering nervously at the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Hagrid?" Dumbledore exclaimed, walking over to bring him inside.

"I'm glad you didn't refuse my invitation to dinner—Christmas is meant to be shared," Dumbledore smiled, pointing to an empty seat beside him. "Have a seat."

That seat had been Snape's, but he hadn't come tonight.

Hagrid felt awkward—sometime ago, the Ministry had expelled him from Hogwarts for "negligence in controlling dangerous creatures" and snapped his wand.

Only Dumbledore believed him and gave him a job.

So normally, Hagrid avoided the castle altogether, let alone dining with professors—he didn't want to cause Dumbledore trouble.

He'd come tonight only to find Silven; he had no intention of staying for dinner.

But Dumbledore was too enthusiastic—by the time Hagrid realized it, he was already seated in Snape's chair.

"What would you like? Turkey sandwich? I must admit, the house-elves roasted far too many turkeys," Dumbledore joked.

Hagrid naturally had no objections.

"You should come more often—Gamekeeper is still part of Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued. "You're entitled to dine here with everyone."

Hagrid pretended not to hear.

Again—he didn't want to cause Dumbledore trouble.

Besides, he didn't like crowded places. Wizards despised giants, and their attitude toward half-giants like him wasn't much better; most young wizards stared at him strangely, making him uncomfortable.

Of course, Silven and Harry and the others were different.

Hagrid sat beside Dumbledore and barely managed to finish a tense dinner.

The moment his plate vanished, he eagerly bid farewell to Dumbledore, stood up, and as he passed Silven, shoved a brown paper bag into his arms.

"This is what you left at my place—don't forget it again next time," Hagrid said.

Silven didn't react at first, then looked up—Hagrid was winking at him.

Hagrid was truly terrible at lying; that forced, over-explaining tone and awkward phrasing were obvious even to Harry sitting beside him.

But Hagrid gave them no time to ask questions—after handing the bag to Silven, he walked straight out of the Great Hall.

Silven instinctively opened the bag—a familiar white glow met his eyes…

"What's inside?" Ron leaned over curiously.

"Nothing." Silven casually closed the bag. "I asked Hagrid for a few rock cakes and forgot to take them when I came back."

"Rock cakes…" Ron couldn't help frowning, as if recalling some unpleasant experience. "That stuff is as hard as a stone, you can't bite into it at all — and you actually went out of your way to ask him for some?"

"Ah, yes, I recommend giving them a try, they're really good." Silven said absently.

"I'll pass, thanks." Ron covered his mouth and instantly lost all interest in that bag.

(End of chapter)