Dumbledore

This wand had taken a full ten days to make, and it had truly put Silvan on a roller-coaster ride.

When he saw the [Backfire] trait, Silvan felt his vision go black. He nearly fainted from anger. A wand that was guaranteed to "backfire"—if word got out, he would become a laughingstock among wandmakers.

And it wasn't even a simple "backfire." The spell was sent back at the user, completely fixing every loophole. Even holding the wand backward, with its tip pointed away, was no use.

As for the second trait, [Sluggish]... If [Backfire] weren't there, Silvan would have been overjoyed. It meant he could use Avada Kedavra the way he used Lumos, unleashing a full-scale barrage in the truest sense.

Taken on its own, it was easily the most outrageous wand trait Silvan had ever seen. It wasn't merely a legendary gold-tier trait; it was the kind with rainbow colors and special effects.

But unfortunately, paired with [Backfire], it made every offensive spell unusable, and the wand's value plummeted in an instant.

Otherwise, he would only be hitting himself.

At that point, the wand was basically half a failure—until the final trait, [Protego], appeared.

A 30% increase to defensive spell effectiveness. Just as its description suggested, it was simple, direct, and powerful, bringing the wand right back to its peak.

For wizards seeking power, this effect was surely no match for [Sluggish] on its own. But from another angle, they were practically on par.

That angle was its unparalleled supporting ability.

Silvan narrowed his eyes. It didn't take long for him to think of a key spell.

The Protego spell, which shared its name with the third trait—and one boosted by 30%, no less.

Under the effects of [Sluggish], a wizard using this wand wouldn't have to worry about incantations, gestures, or any other factors. They could simply pour magic into the wand without a thought and instantly refresh their Protego.

Then there was [Backfire], which, as far as he could tell, ensured Protego's reliability. It wouldn't land on someone else because of panic, a mistake, or an enemy's interference.

Besides, Silvan remembered that the spell itself was cast on the caster. Whether it could trigger [Backfire] and produce a double Protego was anyone's guess.

And on top of all that, the wand had a hidden trait that wasn't listed. He might as well call it [Sturdy].

Hard oak, combined with an entire Troll's spine, made the wand unbelievably heavy. Holding it was like holding a solid steel plate of the same size.

Judging by the dormitory's wrecked state, it wasn't hard to imagine what would happen if someone got hit with it.

Something like—Stupefy (the physical version)?

Silvan patted his cheeks, forcing himself to calm down.

He suddenly realized he probably couldn't use this wand.

First, it was too heavy. There was no way he could catch up with anyone while carrying the thing. If he held it for too long, he might be the first to run out of strength.

Then there was his limited strength. He'd have a hard time bringing out the wand's true destructive power.

But someone else could—and would be a perfect match for it.

Hagrid, a Half-blood Giant!

A Giant's immense strength would let him lift the heavy wand with ease, while his mixed-blood heritage gave him the ability to use magic.

Silvan raised an eyebrow. He seemed to have found Hagrid's Christmas present in return.

And at eleven feet tall, Hagrid would find the wand just the right size in his hands. Half-blood Giants also had far greater resistance to magic than wizards, and now he'd have another layer of armor on top of that.

Wait!

Silvan seemed to realize something and abruptly sat up, but soon shook his head in disappointment.

What was he thinking? A Half-blood Giant's natural talent wasn't magic. How could it count as part of [Protego]?

Even so, the thought was terrifying enough.

Just imagine: in the middle of a chaotic battlefield, a Half-blood Giant who practically ignored magic, gripping an "Avada Kedavra wand," came charging at you at seventy miles an hour...

The mere thought was enough to give anyone nightmares.

Silvan couldn't help shuddering. For a moment, he even hesitated over whether to give it to Hagrid. What if Hagrid got carried away one day and decided to tear down the Ministry of Magic?

Would the Aurors be able to stop him then?

Silvan sat on his bed, letting his thoughts run wild. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and before he knew it, he'd fallen asleep.

By the time Silvan woke the next day, it was almost noon. He rubbed his forehead and blearily checked the time.

The next second, he was wide awake.

He was late... or rather, class would be over in twenty minutes!

Damn it, that was the worst thing about having a private dormitory. There was no one to wake him up for class.

Silvan hurriedly got dressed and put on his shoes, flung open the door, and made to run out.

"Good morning, Mr. Ollivander."

A gentle voice stopped Silvan in his tracks. He began to wonder if he was still asleep.

He had to be. Otherwise, how could he be seeing Dumbledore right outside his door?

"I can assure you that you're awake," Dumbledore said with a genial smile. "Would you join me for a cup of tea? After all, because of you, I was woken up last night after only an hour of sleep."

"Ah? But, Headmaster, I still have class," Silvan said automatically. "I'm already late."

"You don't need to worry about that," Dumbledore said. "I took the liberty of asking Professor Flitwick to excuse you. It seems that came in handy."

"...All right, then."

"Thank you. Oh, and remember to bring that remarkable wand."

Since Dumbledore had put it that way, Silvan said nothing more. He went back to his dormitory, hauled the wand up, and followed Dumbledore out of the Gryffindor Common Room. They arrived at the Headmaster's Office, two corridors away.

It was Silvan's first time in the Headmaster's Office. He tossed the wand onto the desk and panted heavily, while curiously taking in the room's furnishings.

Of everything on display, what interested him most was the silver instruments on the desk, puffing out white smoke.

"At night, I like to put some Draught of Living Death in them. It helps me fall asleep quickly. Of course, they're filled with ordinary Pepperup Potion right now. Madam Pomfrey from the Hospital Wing gave it to me, saying it could prevent the flu." Dumbledore said, "May I take a look at that wand?"

"Of course," Silvan nodded.

"Thank you." Dumbledore walked over to the desk, placed his hand on the wand, and gave it a tug...

For some reason, his movement stopped for a moment. Then his fingers twitched, and the wand floated steadily into the air, stopping in front of him.

Oh!

Watching Dumbledore, Silvan slapped his forehead in frustration.

Damn it, how had he forgotten the Levitation Charm? He had other wands. Why had he carried this thing all the way over?

Meanwhile, Dumbledore studied the wand for a moment and said softly, "It is indeed a wand. What remarkable craftsmanship."

"It's nothing," Silvan said, shaking his head. "There are plenty of remarkable wizards in the Wizarding World. I heard there's a famous Auror lately who can change into all kinds of appearances at will without drinking Polyjuice Potion."

"Ah, I believe I know who you mean," Dumbledore said. "Nymphadora Tonks, the only Metamorphmagus in five centuries. What an enviable talent."

"But you're no slouch either." Dumbledore looked up, his blue eyes gazing at Silvan through the lenses perched on his nose.

"I heard this wand's core is an entire Troll's spine. Is that right?"