The Wand Chooses the Wizard

Chapter 13: The Wand Chooses the Wizard

"The wand chooses the wizard..." A year ago, Silvan had thought, like Hermione, that this was just some gimmick Ollivander had come up with to make things seem more mysterious.

Until last year, when he discovered that things did not seem to be that simple.

And it had all begun with a wand—a wand that was both a failure and a success.

Silvan remembered it clearly.

[Maple, Mooncalf neck hair, eleven inches]

[Status: Perfect]

[Trait: Sluggish. The slower the incantation is spoken, the higher the spell's success rate.]

It was a success because there was absolutely nothing wrong with the wand itself. Its condition was identical to one made by Ollivander.

Its failure, naturally, was that absurd Sluggish trait. It was the exact opposite of a normal wand.

With a normal wand, if an incantation was spoken too slowly, the magic would disperse before it could even gather.

But the one he had made... Silvan had tested it himself. Once the incantation exceeded two syllables per second, it could no longer keep up, then it would crash and shut down.

Two syllables a second? A Levitation Charm would take three and a half seconds?

Wasn't that ridiculous?!

Silvan had always thought that wand would never sell. Ollivander had thought the same, until the day a special customer came into the shop.

A washed-up Beater who, due to a curse, could only utter one syllable per second.

How should he put it? He and that sluggish wand were simply a match made in heaven.

He had already prepared himself for the possibility that he could no longer be a wizard, only for a single wand to completely overturn that fate.

Of course, he could no longer be a Beater, but he could still use magic and would not have to become some unusual sort of Squib.

And so, Silvan successfully sold his first wand. It was also the first time he had wondered whether wands truly did choose their wizards.

A saying passed down for over two thousand years could not be without reason.

And after accepting that, some things suddenly became much easier.

"The wand chooses the wizard. If I can make it successfully, then someone will definitely be able to use it. Even if no one can now, in ten years, or a hundred years, there will definitely be a wizard who can."

It was through those words that Silvan had gradually persuaded Ollivander to accept his unorthodox wand-core materials, reluctantly helping him acquire Hinkypunk leg bones, Diricawl feathers, troll brains, and nose hairs...

He was getting ahead of himself.

Silvan hurriedly shook his head.

Right now, he only wanted to improve his abilities and perfect this wand system that belonged solely to him.

Silvan knew full well that his talent for magic was limited. He was not bad, but he definitely could not compare to geniuses like Dumbledore and Voldemort.

If he wanted to protect himself and his grandfather Ollivander after Voldemort returned, he had to find another way to increase his strength.

Wands... or rather, those wand traits that only he could see—if used properly, they might just open up an entirely new path.

Moreover, wandmakers did not have to worry about rejection. They could freely use every wand they made, and that too was an advantage.

Of course, it would be even better if he could make a wand stronger than the Elder Wand in the process.

Though that would be difficult, there was no need to accomplish it right away.

Dumbledore was still alive. There was no rush.

The Gryffindor common room was rather far away. Following the first-years and the prefects, Silvan stopped and started his way up the stairs, passing twice through doors concealed behind sliding panels and tapestries, then climbing a long stretch of stairs.

Along the way, they encountered a peculiar ghost.

A little man who looked like a ghost but could touch physical objects.

From Prefect Percy, they learned his name.

Peeves, a ghost who loved pranks and enjoyed throwing walking sticks and other things at students' heads.

But he was afraid of professors, as well as another ghost called the Bloody Baron. Percy merely used that name to frighten him, and he ran off.

Silvan turned his head and thoughtfully stared at the corner where Peeves had disappeared.

Did Peeves have a physical body?

If he did, could his hair be pulled out?

It was too late, and there were too many people around. Silvan decided to find another chance to ask properly.

"You should all be on your guard against Peeves," Percy reminded them, leading the group onward.

"The Bloody Baron is the only one who can keep him in line. He does not even listen to us prefects. We're here."

He stopped in front of a portrait at the end of the corridor. It depicted a plump woman.

"Password."

"Dragon dung," Percy said.

The portrait swayed forward, revealing a round opening in the wall.

This was the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

To be fair, Silvan thought it was really huge. It could fit more than ten wand shops, and there was even a spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

The boys' dormitories were upstairs.

Five to a room. That really was not ideal. To be honest, the instant he saw the dormitory, he felt even more resistant than he had in the Great Hall.

There were too many people. It would be very inconvenient to do certain things in such circumstances. Couldn't Hogwarts divide up a few more dormitories?

The answer was: it could!

When Silvan approached McGonagall with the intention of giving it a try and requested to live alone in a dormitory, the deputy headmistress did not immediately refuse.

"Can you tell me why?" McGonagall asked, setting down the quill in her hand.

In fact, most Gryffindors preferred communal living, which was why their House also had the most students per dormitory.

Correspondingly, Ravenclaw had the fewest students per dormitory and was also the House with the most applications for single rooms.

Perhaps wise people preferred to travel alone.

She had not expected that on the very first day of term, Silvan, who had been sorted into Gryffindor, would apply for a single dormitory.

"If I have to give a reason, would worrying that I might disturb the others count?" Silvan thought for a moment before saying, "Making wands can be a little noisy. Everyone will be tired after a full day, and I'm afraid I'll disturb their rest."

"Making wands..." McGonagall pursed her lips, recalling Silvan's other identity. Mainly, she had not expected someone so young to have already started taking over that work.

"Very well." McGonagall agreed with barely any hesitation.

His reason was perfectly sound, and Gryffindor happened to have an unused dormitory. There was nothing to hesitate over.

"This is the key to your new dormitory." She took out an antique brass key and handed it to Silvan. "Do not lose it. The dormitory door has an anti-unlocking charm on it, and it can only be opened with the key."

"Let me remind you of one more thing. If you ever wish to return to your original dormitory, you must obtain your roommates' consent in advance. Otherwise, I will not approve it."

"Ah, I understand," Silvan said casually, not particularly concerned.

Really, if he wanted to live with other people, why would he go through the trouble of applying for a single dormitory?

(End of Chapter)