Chapter 75: Is Voldemort Worth It? (Please Follow)

Silven felt he was being mocked.

He wasn’t particularly good at flying, but so what? Wasn’t that perfectly normal? After all, Hogwarts didn’t even allow first-years to try out for the Quidditch team, and his skill was already far better than most of his peers.

At least he never suddenly slipped off his broom.

“If I remember correctly, dragon’s blood wood isn’t suitable for wand-making,” Charlie said, awkwardly looking away.

“Why say that?”

“Because most people who buy dragon’s blood wood are alchemists, followed by potioneers and magizoologists,” Charlie said. “Since I came here, I’ve never seen Mr. Ollivander specifically seek out dragon’s blood wood—and neither has Mr. Grindelwald.”

Grindelwald was also a famous wandmaker, though he was better known in Eastern Europe, primarily supplying wands to students from Durmstrang.

Additionally, Beauxbatons in France had its own cooperating wandmaker, Cosme Arcayor, the oldest of the three European wandmakers, yet far less renowned than the other two.

In wandmaking, reputation isn’t entirely equal to ability, but it’s still somewhat related.

Just like Charlie just mentioned two people and completely ignored the third.

And the French Delacour family—they tried making a Veela-hair wand a few years ago and went straight to Garrick Ollivander instead of the closer Arcayor.

“Wait…” Silven suddenly noticed something interesting. “Charlie, you just said people come to buy dragon’s blood wood? Can you just buy it freely?”

“If it’s just dragon’s blood wood, yes,” Charlie whispered. “The reserve costs too much, and the Ministry’s funding keeps shrinking—we can’t even afford enough food for the dragons anymore, so we have to find other ways.”

“Dragon’s blood wood and dragon dung fertilizer are both extra products of the reserve, and unlike dragons, they don’t have strict requirements—we can handle them however we want.”

“Is it expensive?” Silven’s eyes lit up—if he could buy it, that was fine. His grandfather had just received last year’s new student wand subsidy—several hundred Galleons.

“Not expensive. A five-year-old dragon’s blood wood bookmark costs only ten Sickles. If you like, I can give you one.”

Silven couldn’t smile.

Not because it was cheap—but because it was too expensive.

Ten Sickles could buy you a whole snack bundle on the train: two boxes of Chocolate Frogs, a bag of Extendable Ears, two large boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, five Licorice Wands, and a three-inch cauldron cake—enough for two young witches or wizards to feast all the way to school.

And that was just the price of five-year dragon’s blood wood. Silven didn’t want ordinary stuff like that.

“By the way, you’re a first-year too—do you know Ron Weasley? He’s my brother, in Gryffindor.”

“I know him,” Silven said offhandedly. “We were even in the same dorm.”

“What?” Charlie’s voice rose sharply. He stared at Silven in disbelief. “But he’s in… wait, are you also in Gryffindor?”

Seeing Charlie’s shocked face, Silven felt like he’d been shot again.

It was as if everyone assumed a wandmaker could never be sorted into Gryffindor—even Gryffindor graduates.

“The Sorting Hat thought I suited it well,” Silven said casually, then asked: “Do you have any dragon’s blood wood older than five years? Say, a thousand years old?”

“No,” Charlie shook his head without hesitation.

The older the dragon’s blood wood, the stronger its scent—and the more dragons liked it. But just as ordinary plants can’t be overwatered, too much dragonfire would overwhelm the dragon’s blood wood.

Besides, the dragon reserve has only existed for about a hundred years. Even if older dragon’s blood trees existed, they’d have been here before the reserve was founded—and there’d be far too few of them.

“Alright. But if such a tree did exist, how much do you think it’d cost?” Silven probed.

“Hard to say,” Charlie assumed Silven was just curious. After thinking for a moment, he replied: “I’ve only seen two-hundred-year-old dragon’s blood wood. A Bulgarian alchemist bought a bundle about the size of a broomstick—he paid a hundred Galleons.”

“That expensive?!” Silven nearly lost his composure. He’d expected it to be costly, but this was ridiculous.

Even if you just scaled it linearly, a thousand-year dragon’s blood wood would cost five hundred Galleons—and he needed more than a thousand.

He couldn’t afford it. Not at all.

Seeing Silven’s helpless expression, Charlie found it amusing… they were just chatting, why was he taking it seriously?

“Forget it,” Charlie said with a sage-like tone. “Ancient dragon’s blood trees are among the most precious treasures even among dragons—they absolutely forbid any creature from approaching them.”

“So price doesn’t really matter—you’d need the courage to fight a dragon for its pillow.”

Charlie told the joke and burst out laughing.

But Silven couldn’t laugh—he genuinely wanted to buy one.

No wonder his grandfather’s face turned so grim when he took that dragon’s blood wood away—like the wand shop was about to go bankrupt.

Now Silven fully understood: Garrick Ollivander had never intended to make a dragon’s blood wood wand, which was why he’d gotten a bargain.

But where had that dragon’s blood wood come from originally—the Hebrides?

Silven immediately thought of that place. In the British wizarding world, when people mentioned dragons, most could only name two locations: the Romanian Dragon Reserve, and the Black Dragons of the Hebrides.

According to “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” the Hebridean Black Dragons had existed for centuries—almost as long as Hogwarts itself. Perhaps ancient dragon’s blood trees truly did exist there.

But the location was a mystery. Rumor said the area was thick with Fidelius Charms and other protective magic, accessible only to a handful of wizards.

Silven sighed. It seemed buying it was the only practical path left.

But the price was terrifying. Compared to that, nine Galleons for unicorn tail hair suddenly didn’t seem so expensive—and even eight-eyed spider venom at a hundred Galleons per pint felt like a bargain.

Silven suddenly felt Voldemort wasn’t worth it—a Dark Wizard who doesn’t deserve over five hundred Galleons?

No—he’d already wasted over five hundred Galleons on that bastard!

Thinking of his dragon’s blood wood wand, now shattered into fragments, Silven even imagined dismantling his short wand and letting a unicorn gore Voldemort through the chest.

But the moment the thought arose, he crushed it—too wasteful. Better to settle the debt with something else.

Those Horcruxes would do nicely.

…

(End of Chapter)