Chapter 7: Don't Call Me a Stick-Maker

The Hogwarts Express — an old-fashioned steam train, slow and not particularly comfortable, its only virtue being that it let passengers drink in the scenery along the way.

Of course, all of that was something Silven had heard from other wizards; as for what it was really like, he was about to find out for himself.

Silven hadn't arrived especially early; many of the compartments were already full.

At last, near the tail end of the train, he found an empty compartment.

"Lucky me." Silven took out his wand, pointed it at his trunk, and gave a slight upward flick.

"Wingardium Leviosa…"

The trunk wobbled up into the air in a strange posture, crawled forward with great difficulty for a stretch, and was finally pushed by Silven onto the luggage rack.

"It should be ~ Levio — sa. Your pronunciation and your pauses are both wrong."

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

Behind her trailed a timid, round-faced boy.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger, and he's Neville Longbottom," the girl said.

"Hello, I'm Silven Ollivander," Silven said.

"We're looking for a seat, and when we happened to pass by here we saw you using the Levitation Charm." Hermione rattled on without pause, "I've tried it too, and it worked pretty well… What I mean is, I've already memorised Standard Spells: Beginner, plus a few extra reference books I bought. What about you?"

By the end her voice had grown much louder, and her tone sounded a touch overbearing.

"I haven't memorised anything, and I don't think a new student needs to waste time memorising textbooks when they start school," Silven said bluntly.

Hermione froze for a moment, clearly not expecting Silven to say that.

The atmosphere turned a little awkward. Neville desperately tried to think of something to say to ease the slightly stiff mood, but couldn't think of what, and was so anxious he was going round in circles.

But he was clearly overthinking it — neither Silven nor Hermione took this little episode to heart.

Silven didn't care, and Hermione was used to it.

"I'm the only one here. If you don't mind, we could share."

"Thank you," Hermione said. She had no intention of leaving at all, because by now the train was about to depart, and leaving would make it very hard to find another empty compartment.

After putting away his luggage, Silven pulled out a thick, hardbound book and began reading it intently by the window.

Outside there were many parents seeing their children off, noisy and clamorous, but Silven didn't mind.

He read very intently, and every so often would take out a stick of wood and scrape at it a few times with the small knife he carried.

At some point, without knowing when, the train had already pulled out of the station, leaving fields of wheat and villages far behind.

But the compartment didn't grow quiet because of it.

The main reason was Hermione — from the moment she sat down her mouth hadn't stopped, constantly telling Neville what books she'd read over the holiday and how many she'd memorised.

Chirping away, like a macaw preening its feathers.

Although he'd long known about Hermione's personality, only after experiencing it firsthand did Silven realise she really was a touch annoying at this point.

He also couldn't understand how, with only a few basic spells to talk about, Hermione could tirelessly go on for two whole hours.

Even more terrifying was Neville, who kept nodding along in agreement, not the slightest bit impatient.

Silven had assumed they'd carry on like this all the way to Hogwarts, but he soon realised he was wrong.

Hermione's attention still landed on him.

"What book are you reading…" she seemed to have wanted to ask this long ago, stretching her neck over to look at Silven's side.

"Perhaps we could swap notes. I've also bought a lot of extra reference books — A History of Modern Magic, The Rise and Fall of Dark Magic, Significant Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. What's the one you've got…"

"Snap!"

Just as Hermione leaned over, Silven instinctively closed the book in his hands, blocking her gaze.

This almost cold-blooded move also caused the first obvious change in Hermione's expression; she looked a little angry.

"I won't just read it for free — I can lend you my books too…"

"No, you've got the wrong idea."

Silven hurriedly shook his head and explained, "The truth is, this is a magical book. If you were to see its contents rashly, it might cause you some trouble."

"A magical… book?"

From Hermione's expression, she clearly didn't believe it.

How could a book not be allowed to be read?

Besides, it wasn't as if she'd never been to the bookshop in Diagon Alley — she could read every book there.

"He — he's right." Seeing Hermione's look, Neville offered an explanation.

"There are a lot of books in the Wizarding World you can't just go reading willy-nilly." Although his voice was very quiet, the expression on his face was very solemn, looking deadly serious.

"My gran told me that once there was someone who read a cursed book, and afterwards could only say one word every second. I don't know if it's true."

"It's true," Silven said softly. "Actually, I've met that person."

"You've met them?" Hermione's eyes went wide, and her voice rose high and shrill.

She looked at Silven, then at the book, and her whole body jerked backwards, pressing tightly against the compartment wall.

She didn't want to be able to say only one word a second — that was too terrifying.

"You're overthinking it. This one isn't," Silven said, picking up the book and giving it a shake.

The cover of the book was painted with two crossed wands, and the lettering on it had all blurred and faded — clearly it had been through a great many years.

Hermione could only faintly make out the word "Ollivander" above the wands.

Wait — Ollivander…

"I remember now!" she suddenly shouted, giving Neville a fright.

But Hermione didn't notice that. She stared at Silven. "I've seen you — at the wand shop. You were standing right next to Mr. Ollivander."

"Then you really are something, to even remember the wand-seller's name was Ollivander," Silven said flatly. "If your memory were a little better, you might even recall my self-introduction from just now."

"Remember? Silven Ollivander."

Hermione's face reddened once again.

Just now she had been so focused on correcting Silven's magic that she hadn't paid any attention to his self-introduction at all.

"Of course I remember… it's just… it didn't come to mind…" Hermione forced herself to offer a brief explanation.

Silven didn't press her on it either, and on his own rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.

Those people really weren't exaggerating—the comfort of the Hogwarts Express was terrible, the jostling had left him feeling awful.

Across from him, Hermione kept staring at him, her mouth open, seeming to want to say something, but very hesitant.

Only this hesitation didn't last long.

Just as Silven was preparing to continue reading…

"So, are you a Wandmaker too?"

Silven's expression shifted slightly, and he looked at the two across from him with a solemn, serious gaze.

"If possible, I'd prefer you use a more formal title—Wandmaking Artisan."

"Is there a difference?"

Silven didn't answer right away; after a moment's hesitation he said, "Just think of it as the difference between a cat and a tabby cat."

(End of chapter)