Professor Quirrell's Turban

Professor Quirrell's Turban

That night, well into the early hours, Silvan kept pondering why the wand-making had succeeded.

He came up with many different possibilities. The most convincing was that Ron had desperately wanted a wand of his own, and that powerful emotion had affected the final result.

And it was highly likely.

In the wizarding world, emotions were also a special kind of magic, and an extremely important one.

Many spells relied on emotions to be cast. The most famous example was the Patronus Charm, which required one to summon happy feelings and memories.

Then there was Apparition. You had to believe with unwavering certainty that you could do it for the spell to succeed... what people called determination.

Those were all powers of emotion.

If that was the case, it was hardly strange that Ron could influence the spell's result.

It was just that those two traits didn't seem very suited to Ron.

Jinxes, the Furnunculus Curse, and the Tarantallegra Jinx were all jinxes. They caused trouble, but they weren't fatal.

Was Ron good at that sort of spell?

Probably not.

And then there was the Blasting Curse. That was obviously Seamus's signature move... though it might also have come from the red cap.

That thing loved explosions far too much. Even a fire lizard's tail felt more stable than it.

In the early hours, Silvan, too exhausted to stay awake, rubbed his forehead, changed into his pajamas, and lay down in bed.

Forget it. No matter what, he had succeeded.

And based on his past experience, now that this wand-making attempt had succeeded, the success rate would increase drastically when he used the same wand core again.

It was an unexpected gain, and quite a substantial one at that.

After all, compared with unicorns and dragons, magical creatures like red caps were genuinely cheap. When he bought red cap hearts in Knockturn Alley, they were sold by the pound—five per pound for two Sickles. Most of the time, they would even throw in a few toad tongues or lizard tails.

A rough calculation put the cost of a red cap heart nerve at... less than twenty Knuts.

Ollivander had always believed that wand cores made from such dark creatures were unstable and unable to resonate with a wizard's magic. He thought Silvan was wasting his time.

But he had really made one!

"No!" Silvan suddenly sat bolt upright in bed.

Whether it was to show off or for some other reason, he had to write Ollivander a letter...

Still sleeping? Get up and question your entire life!

Silvan did not even wait until morning. In the middle of the night, he quietly left the common room and headed for the Owlery.

Oh, right. He ran into the Weasley twins on the way.

According to them, Mrs Norris was still in the hospital wing, and Filch was struggling alone. They absolutely could not miss such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a midnight stroll.

They also expressed their approval of Silvan's actions, saying he was a Gryffindor through and through.

Well...

Talking was one thing, but insulting him was another!

After parting with the twins, Silvan hurried to the Owlery, sent off the letter along with the wand, then returned to the Gryffindor common room the way he had come.

Just as the twins had said, it was a perfect day for sneaking around at night. He did not run into Filch once along the way.

But the consequence was that he was late the next day—late for McGonagall's Transfiguration class, no less.

"Sorry, Professor, I got lost," Silvan said awkwardly from the doorway.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have already used that excuse." McGonagall pursed her lips.

"I hope you can give me a different excuse. I don't believe first-years from one house need three maps."

"Sorry, Professor. It won't happen again," Silvan sighed.

"I hope you remember that promise," McGonagall said. "Two points from Gryffindor. Now find a seat quickly. We are about to begin."

Silvan quickly took a seat in the back row, feeling a little annoyed.

Because of his nighttime wandering, he had, unsurprisingly, overslept.

This was their first Transfiguration class. In other words, he had actually missed McGonagall's iconic Animagus transformation!

When first-years attended their first Transfiguration lesson, McGonagall would remain in the classroom as a tabby cat, then transform back into human form before everyone's eyes, giving the students a little Transfiguration shock.

Silvan had arrived far too late, and there had happened to be two latecomers before him, so he missed the scene.

It was all Harry and Ron's fault!

Silvan silently decided to add another Galleon to the price of Ron's wand.

Don't ask why. The answer was that he had no sense of fair play.

The lesson was simple: basic Transfiguration—turning a matchstick into a needle.

Of course, "simple" was only in comparison to the other contents of the textbook. For the first-years attending class today, even basic Transfiguration was enough to leave them scratching their heads.

By the end of class, only two people had managed to alter their matchsticks.

One was Hermione, and the other was Silvan.

Silvan had even been the first to finish, earning back the two points that had been deducted.

Hermione was rather unconvinced, though, believing that Silvan had practiced beforehand.

And of course he had.

Ordinary wizards only received their own wands at eleven, before Hogwarts started. But Silvan had had a wand since he was nine—and more than one, at that.

Why had he worked so hard to make wands? So he could experience magic ahead of time.

If he did nothing with them, wouldn't getting the wands have been a waste?

After Transfiguration came Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Quirrell's class had become a complete joke. His thick, long turban constantly gave off a heavy smell of garlic.

"It smells worse than the potion you soak your wands in," Seamus commented after class.

"Hey, mine is made from herbs and tree oils," Silvan could not help retorting. "A pint costs five Galleons."

"That expensive?" Seamus's voice changed.

His allowance for an entire school year was only five Galleons!

"What did you expect? Wand-making is an expensive trade," Silvan said.

"Five Galleons to soak one wand?" Harry asked in surprise.

"No, that much can soak around a hundred wands."

"Huh?"

"Even so, it costs more than garlic, right?"

"That's true."

The group chatted as they headed toward the Great Hall.

"Oh, right." Harry suddenly remembered something. "Silvan, why did you keep staring at Professor Quirrell during Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"I was staring at Professor Quirrell? Was I?" Silvan blinked.

"Yes, you were. We all saw it," Neville quietly spoke up in fairness.

"Was it that obvious?"

Everyone nodded together.

There were people doing all sorts of things in the classroom, but Silvan had spent the entire lesson staring at Professor Quirrell's head. How could it not have been obvious?

"Come on, I was just curious about what was under his turban. Whether he really had a string of garlic hidden there," Silvan said. "Aren't you curious too?"

"Um... we are." They honestly nodded.

"...But we wouldn't stare at him," Harry continued. "Didn't you notice? During the second half of class, Professor Quirrell started avoiding you."

"Really? Then I'll watch it next time."