McGonagall and the Flying Broomstick

The hair wand project was not progressing smoothly. The main reason was that Silvan had a hard time finding a wand shaft compatible with McGonagall's hair.

A wizard's individual traits were too distinct; they would instinctively reject things they disliked.

Oak, grapevine, beech... Over the past few days, Silvan had tried every material he carried with him. Not only had none of them worked, but he had accidentally blown apart two strands of hair.

It left Silvan downcast for several days, debating whether he should find Hagrid over the weekend and ask him to take him into the Forbidden Forest.

As Silvan walked through the common room, weighed down by his thoughts, Harry and Ron suddenly stepped out and stopped him.

"Hey, Silvan, what's wrong with you these past few days? You've been listless all day," Harry finally asked.

"Yeah." Hermione walked over as well. "You've already been late three times and cost Gryffindor a total of twenty points..."

"Why bring that up?" Ron glared at her before turning back. "We just want to know what's wrong. Maybe we can help."

"Ah, it's nothing." Silvan rubbed his face. He had realized he had been a little too fixated these past two days.

Turning a wizard's hair into a wand was hardly something that could be done easily. How could he possibly finish it in a day or two?

"Sorry." Silvan tried to clear his head. "Oh, I'll find a way to earn back the points I lost."

"That doesn't matter. Even if you weren't late, Snape would find a way to deduct points from us anyway," Ron said, shooting Hermione another glare. Hermione turned her head away and refused to look at him.

As an aside, Silvan had been late to Potions yesterday and had immediately lost fifteen points.

"What class do we have next?" Silvan asked.

"Flying," Harry said, drawing a chorus of groans.

"What, you don't like Flying lessons?" Silvan asked.

"No, we just don't want to have class with Slytherin." Ron pointed at a notice posted behind the door.

Gryffindor first-years are to report to the field in front of the castle by 3:30 p.m. on Thursday to learn broomstick flying alongside Slytherin students. —Rolanda Hooch

No wonder.

Gryffindor and Slytherin couldn't stand each other. They argued whenever they met, and usually only had Potions together, which they could endure. Now they had another Flying class together.

"Can't be helped. We can't change the school's arrangements," Silvan said. "Just pretend they don't exist when the time comes."

"That's all we can do," Harry said dejectedly. "But if I make a fool of myself on a flying broomstick in front of Malfoy, I doubt he'll pretend not to see it."

Silvan said nothing.

Harry's worries were clearly unnecessary, but he didn't know that, and he wouldn't believe it even if Silvan told him.

Silvan was not particularly interested in flying broomsticks.

You needed one hand to keep the broom steady while flying, making it inconvenient to use a wand. That made him feel rather unsafe.

So under normal circumstances, Silvan preferred standing on solid ground—unless he could fly while riding a wand...

Hm?

Wait.

Silvan looked at the wand Madam Hooch had placed by his feet and suddenly blinked.

Why did the wooden handle of this flying broomstick look so much like a giant wand?

The more he looked, the more alike they seemed. The ratio of length to thickness was practically identical to a standard wand.

Silvan instinctively reached out, wanting to examine it more closely.

With a thought, the flying broomstick on the ground immediately jumped into his hand.

"A perfect demonstration—even I couldn't have done better!" Madam Hooch announced loudly. "Two points to Gryffindor. But I still have to say this: raise your hand before demonstrating next time. I'll let it slide this once."

Silvan had not heard a word Madam Hooch said. All his attention was on the broomstick's wooden handle.

It was perfect... Though the surface of the handle was somewhat rough, there were no cracks, which meant the wood inside was undamaged.

Silvan took out his wand and lightly tapped it.

The broom handle unfurled in rings like rolled-up paper, turning into more than a dozen thin wooden strips in the blink of an eye.

Silvan casually picked one up and carefully inspected its grain.

Fir wood, and the highest-quality fir at that. Judging from its condition, it was around a hundred years old.

It had been maintained quite well, too. Once the rough outer layer was removed, the wood inside was smooth and fine, as though it had been meticulously polished with wax.

To be honest, Silvan's act of dismantling a broomstick without a word was not actually permitted. Yet no one around him stopped him; even Madam Hooch seemed to be pretending not to notice.

...Well, she really hadn't noticed.

Because everyone's attention was focused on the sky.

Perhaps because Silvan had reminded him to be careful before class, Neville was especially nervous. Later, he even misheard Madam Hooch's instructions and shot straight into the air on his broomstick.

Then he slammed headfirst into the wall opposite.

Madam Hooch had already taken him to the school hospital. Now Harry and Malfoy were fighting over the Remembrall Neville had accidentally dropped.

Everyone was watching them fly, and no one had noticed that Silvan had already dismantled his own broomstick into eight pieces.

It was not until ten minutes later that McGonagall hurried over from the castle.

"Falling straight down from that height... How could you dare... All right, Potter, come with me."

"And Ollivander, the school does not permit the destruction of broomsticks. Two points from Gryffindor. If you can't repair it before the next class, it will be twenty points!"

No one answered.

"Mr. Ollivander, are you listening to me?" McGonagall was getting angry, and her spectacles flashed with fury.

Hermione punched Silvan hard.

"Restore the broomstick to its original state, immediately!" McGonagall repeated.

Though he had not noticed what had happened earlier, Silvan could more or less guess. He immediately nodded in agreement.

Only then did McGonagall's expression improve slightly. She left the field with a dejected Harry in tow.

"You're far too bold," Hermione could not help saying. "Why did you destroy a school broomstick?"

"No, I didn't destroy it." Silvan took another wand from his pocket.

After his observations just now, he had confirmed that this sort of broom handle met every requirement for a wand shaft. It did not even need any additional modification.

He just didn't know whether it had magical runes engraved on it. There had not been enough time to inspect it closely. If it did not, perhaps he really could fly on a "wand."

Silvan held his wand upright, intending to repair it first and deal with McGonagall afterward.

But that motion happened to fling off a strand of hair hanging from his wand.

The hair was tossed into the air, then drifted gently down and landed right against one of the wooden strips.

McGonagall's hair had been put into Silvan's pocket after the previous experiment failed.

Now, the hair clung tightly to the cut surface of the wooden strip, fitting perfectly. Even when Silvan shook it hard, it would not come off, as though it had been glued there.

"This..." Silvan twitched his lips, unable to stop an absurd feeling from rising in his heart.

It seemed he had found a compatible material for the wand shaft... No, it was more accurate to say that the hair had found it itself.

McGonagall's hair, paired with the flying broomstick that represented Quidditch...

All right, that made perfect sense!