Don't Call Me a Wandmaker

Don't Call Me a Wandmaker

The Hogwarts Express was an old-fashioned steam train. It was slow and not particularly comfortable, its only advantage being that passengers could fully enjoy the scenery along the way.

Of course, Silvan had only heard all that from other wizards. As for what it was really like, he was about to find out.

Silvan had not arrived particularly early, and many compartments were already full.

At last, near the rear of the train, he found an empty compartment.

"Not bad." Silvan took out his wand, pointed it at his trunk, and gave it a slight upward flick.

"Wingardium Leviosa..."

The trunk rose unsteadily in an odd posture. After wobbling through the air with great difficulty for a short distance, it was finally pushed onto the luggage rack by Silvan.

"It should be Levi-o-sa. Your pronunciation and pause were both wrong."

The sudden voice startled Silvan. A brown-haired little girl pushed open the compartment door from outside, walked straight in, and sat across from him.

A round-faced boy followed timidly behind her.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger, and he's Neville Longbottom," the girl said.

"Hello. I'm Silvan Ollivander," Silvan said.

"We were looking for seats, and when we passed by, we happened to see you using the Levitation Charm." Hermione rattled on without pause. "I tried it too, and it worked quite well... I mean, I've already memorized all of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, along with several extra reference books I bought. What about you?"

Her voice grew much louder toward the end, and her tone sounded a little smug.

"I didn't memorize them, and I don't think first-years need to waste time memorizing all their textbooks before school starts," Silvan replied bluntly.

Hermione froze for a moment, clearly not expecting him to say that.

The atmosphere became somewhat awkward. Neville desperately wanted to say something to ease the slightly stiff mood, but he had no idea what to say and grew flustered.

But he had clearly overthought it. Neither Silvan nor Hermione took the little incident to heart.

Silvan did not care, while Hermione was used to it.

"It's just me here. If you don't mind, we can sit together."

"Thank you," Hermione said. She had not intended to leave anyway. The train was about to depart, and it would be difficult to find another empty compartment if they left now.

After putting away his luggage, Silvan took out a thick hardcover book and began reading seriously by the window.

Outside, many parents were seeing off their children, and the platform was loud and bustling, but Silvan paid it no mind.

He read with great focus, occasionally taking out a wooden stick and scraping at it a few times with the small knife he carried with him.

At some point, the train had already left the station, leaving stretches of wheat fields and villages far behind.

Yet the compartment did not become quiet because of it.

The main reason was Hermione. From the moment she sat down, her mouth had not stopped moving. She kept telling Neville about the books she had read over the holiday and how many she had memorized.

She chirped away like a macaw showing off its feathers.

Silvan had long known about Hermione's personality, but after experiencing it firsthand, he realized she was indeed a little irritating at this age.

He also could not understand why Hermione could talk for two whole hours about nothing more than a few basic spells without getting tired of it.

Even more frightening was Neville. He kept nodding along, without showing the slightest impatience.

Silvan had thought they would continue like this all the way to Hogwarts, but he soon discovered that he was wrong.

Hermione's attention eventually turned to him.

"What book are you reading..." She seemed to have wanted to ask for a long time, craning her neck to look over at Silvan.

"Maybe we can exchange books. I bought lots of extra reference books too: A History of Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. What is that one..."

Snap!

As Hermione leaned over, Silvan instinctively shut the book in his hands, blocking her view.

That almost cold-hearted action caused an obvious change in Hermione's expression for the first time. She looked somewhat angry.

"I'm not asking to read it for free. I can lend you my books too..."

"No, you misunderstood."

Silvan hurriedly shook his head and explained, "Actually, this is a magical book. If you see its contents recklessly, it may cause you some trouble."

"A magical... book?"

Judging from Hermione's expression, she clearly did not believe him.

How could a book be something one could not read?

Besides, she had been to the bookshops in Diagon Alley. She could read all the books there.

"H-he's right," Neville said, seeing Hermione's expression.

"There are many books in the wizarding world that you can't just read." Though his voice was quiet, his expression was serious, as though he were making a solemn declaration.

"I heard my gran say that someone once read a cursed book, and afterward, they could only say one word per second. I don't know if it's true."

"It's true," Silvan said softly. "I've actually met that person."

"You've met them?" Hermione's eyes widened, and her voice became high and shrill.

She looked at Silvan, then at the book, before suddenly jerking backward and pressing herself tightly against the compartment wall.

She did not want to be able to say only one word per second. That was far too terrifying.

"You're overthinking it. This isn't that kind of book." Silvan picked up the book and gave it a shake.

Two crossed wands were drawn on its cover, and the words on it were faded and blurred, making it obvious that it had weathered many years.

Hermione could only barely make out the word "Ollivander" above the wands.

Wait, Ollivander...

"I remember now!" she suddenly shouted, startling Neville.

But Hermione did not notice. She stared at Silvan. "I saw you in the wand shop. You were standing beside Mr. Ollivander then."

"That's impressive. You actually remembered that the man who sells wands is named Ollivander," Silvan said flatly. "If your memory were a little better, maybe you'd remember my introduction just now."

"Do you remember? Silvan Ollivander."

Hermione's face reddened again.

She had been too busy correcting Silvan's magic earlier to pay any attention to his introduction.

"Of course I remember... I just... didn't connect it..." Hermione forced herself to explain.

Silvan did not press the matter. He simply rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.

Those people had not exaggerated at all. The Hogwarts Express was far too uncomfortable, and the jolting made him feel miserable.

Across from him, Hermione kept staring at him with her mouth slightly open, as though she wanted to say something but was hesitating.

That hesitation did not last long.

Just as Silvan was about to continue reading...

"So, are you a wandmaker too?"

Silvan's expression changed slightly. He looked at the two of them opposite him with a solemn, serious gaze.

"If possible, I hope you'll use a more formal title—wand craftsman."

"What's the difference?"

Silvan did not answer immediately. After hesitating for a moment, he said, "Think of it as the difference between a cat and a tabby cat."

(End of Chapter)