Chapter 7: Don

The Hogwarts Express, an old-fashioned steam locomotive, was slow and uncomfortable; its only advantage was allowing passengers to fully enjoy the scenery along the way.

Of course, all this was what Silven had heard from other wizards; as for how it truly was, he would find out soon enough.

Silven wasn’t early; many compartments were already full.

Finally, near the rear of the train, he found an empty compartment.

“Lucky.” Silven pulled out his wand, pointed it at his suitcase, and gave it a slight upward flick.

“Wingardium Leviosa…”

The suitcase rose in a peculiar, wobbling manner, struggled forward a short distance, and was finally shoved onto the luggage rack by Silven.

“It should be ~Levio—sah; your pronunciation and pause are wrong.”

The sudden voice startled Silven; a girl with brown hair pushed open the compartment door and walked straight in, sitting down opposite him.

Behind her followed a timid, round-faced boy.

“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger, and this is Neville Longbottom,” the girl said.

“Hello, I’m Silven Ollivander,” Silven said.

“We were looking for seats and happened to see you casting the Levitation Charm,” Hermione rattled on without pause, “I tried it too, and it worked pretty well… I mean, I’ve memorized all of Standard Spellwork: Beginner, plus several extra reference books you bought—what about you?”

By the end, her voice had grown louder, sounding rather haughty.

“I haven’t memorized anything, and I don’t think first-years need to waste time memorizing textbooks,” Silven replied bluntly.

Hermione froze, clearly not expecting such a response.

The atmosphere grew awkward; Neville desperately tried to say something to ease the tension but didn’t know what, pacing nervously.

But he clearly overthought it—neither Silven nor Hermione cared about this minor incident.

Silven didn’t care; Hermione was used to it.

“I’m alone here—if you don’t mind, we can share the compartment.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said; she had no intention of leaving anyway, as the train was about to depart, and finding another empty compartment would be difficult.

After stowing his luggage, Silven pulled out a thick hardcover book and read intently by the window.

Outside, parents seeing off students were noisy and bustling, but Silven paid no attention.

He read carefully, occasionally pulling out a stick and scraping it lightly with a small knife he carried.

At some point, the train had left the station, leaving fields of wheat and villages far behind.

Yet the compartment did not grow quiet.

The main reason was Hermione—since sitting down, her mouth had not stopped, telling Neville about every book she’d read and memorized over the holidays.

Chattering away like a parrot flaunting its feathers.

Though he’d known Hermione’s personality before, only now, experiencing it firsthand, did Silven realize she was genuinely a bit annoying.

He couldn’t understand why, over just a few basic spells, she could talk for two hours without tiring.

Worse still was Neville—he kept nodding along, showing no sign of impatience.

Silven had assumed they’d sit like this until Hogwarts, but he soon realized he was wrong.

Hermione’s attention turned back to him.

“What book are you reading…” She seemed to have wanted to ask this for a while, leaning forward to peer at him.

“Perhaps we could exchange ideas—I bought many extra reference books: Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century—what’s yours…”

“Snap!”

As Hermione leaned in, Silven instinctively snapped shut the book, blocking her view.

This almost inhuman act caused Hermione’s expression to change for the first time—she looked plainly annoyed.

“I don’t just read for free—I can lend you my books too…”

“No, you misunderstand.”

Silven quickly shook his head and explained: “Actually, this is a magical book—if you casually read its contents, it might cause you some trouble.”

“A magical… book?”

From Hermione’s expression, she clearly didn’t believe him.

How could a book not be readable?

Besides, she’d been to Diagon Alley’s bookshops—she could read any book there.

“He’s right,” Neville said, helping to explain, his voice quiet but his face serious.

“There are many books in the magical world you shouldn’t read carelessly.”

“My grandmother told me someone once read a cursed book and afterward could only say one word per second—I don’t know if it’s true.”

“It’s true,” Silven said softly. “I’ve actually met that person.”

“You met him?” Hermione’s eyes widened, her voice rising sharply.

She glanced from Silven to the book, then jerked backward, pressing tightly against the compartment wall.

She didn’t want to be able to say only one word per second—that was terrifying.

“You’re overthinking—it’s not that one,” Silven said, holding up the book and shaking it.

The cover showed two crossed wands, and the lettering was faded and blurred, clearly aged by long years.

Hermione could barely make out the word “Ollivander” on the wands.

Wait—Ollivander…

“I remember!” she suddenly shouted, startling Neville.

But Hermione didn’t notice; she stared at Silven. “I’ve seen you—in the wand shop. You were standing beside Mr. Ollivander.”

“You’re impressive—you even remember the wand seller’s name is Ollivander,” Silven said coolly. “If your memory were even better, you might recall my introduction just now.”

“Remember? Silven Ollivander.”

Hermione’s face flushed again.

Earlier, she’d been too focused on correcting his spell to pay attention to his name.

“Of course I remember… I just… didn’t think of it…” Hermione mumbled weakly.

Silven didn’t press her further; he simply stretched his shoulders and neck.

Those people hadn’t exaggerated—Hogwarts Express was terribly uncomfortable; the jolting made him uneasy.

Across from him, Hermione kept staring, mouth open, as if wanting to say something but hesitating.

But this hesitation didn’t last long.

As Silven prepared to resume reading…

“So… are you also a wand-maker?”

Silven’s expression subtly shifted; he looked seriously at the two across from him.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you use a more formal term—wandmaker.”

“What’s the difference?”

Silven didn’t answer immediately; after a pause, he said: “Think of it as the difference between a cat and a tabby.”

(End of chapter)