Chapter 13 — The Wand Chooses the Wizard
"The wand chooses the wizard…"
A year ago, Siron, like Hermione, had thought this phrase was just a catchy line that Ollivander invented to make his craft sound mysterious.
It wasn't until last year that he realized things might not be so simple.
And it all started with a wand—a wand that was both a failure and a success.
Siron remembered it clearly.
[Maple wood, Moonfang Beast neck hair, 11 inches]
[Condition: Perfect]
[Trait: Sluggish—The slower the incantation, the higher the success rate.]
It was a success in that the wand was flawless in every other aspect, identical in quality to anything Ollivander would produce.
Its "failure," of course, was that exaggerated sluggish trait—it worked opposite to a normal wand.
A normal wand would fizzle if you cast too slowly—the magic would dissipate before forming.
But the one he made… Siron had tested it himself. Once the incantation speed exceeded two syllables per second, the wand couldn't keep up and would shut down.
Two syllables per second… a levitation charm takes three and a half seconds?
Ridiculous!
Siron had thought that wand would never sell. Ollivander thought the same—until that day, when a very special customer came into the shop.
A cursed, lethargic duelist who could only produce one syllable of sound per second.
Let's just say—the wand and the duelist were a perfect match, made for each other.
The duelist had been prepared to give up being a wizard, but this wand changed everything.
Of course, he would never become a great duelist, but he could still perform magic, no longer destined to be a useless dud.
Thus, Siron successfully sold his first wand. And that was the first time he truly hesitated—could it really be true that the wand chooses the wizard?
A saying that had been passed down for over two thousand years couldn't be entirely baseless.
Once he accepted that, some things fell into place more smoothly.
"The wand chooses the wizard. If I can make it work, someone can use it. Even if not now, in ten or a hundred years, some wizard will be able to."
It was by relying on this logic that Siron gradually persuaded Ollivander to tolerate his unorthodox wand core materials. Reluctantly, Ollivander even helped him source such rare components as Hinkpunk's leg bone, Balloon Bird feathers, and the brain and nose hair of a giant…
Stop overthinking it.
Siron shook his head quickly. Right now, all he wanted was to improve his own abilities and perfect this unique wand-making system he had created.
He knew his talent in magic was limited. Not bad, but certainly incomparable to a genius like Dumbledore—or Voldemort.
To protect himself, and his grandfather Ollivander, against Voldemort's possible resurgence, he had to find another way to increase his strength.
The wand—or rather, those unique traits only he could see—if used correctly, could open an entirely new path.
And as a wandmaker, he didn't have to worry about resistance—he could use every wand he created at will. That was another advantage.
Of course, if he could make a wand even stronger than the old master wand in the process, all the better.
It would be difficult, but there was no rush. Dumbledore was still alive—no need to hurry.
…
The Gryffindor common room was a bit far. Following the first-years and prefects, Siron walked up and down the stairs, passing through doors hidden behind sliding panels and curtains twice, and climbing long flights of stairs.
Along the way, they encountered a peculiar ghost.
A ghost-like figure, yet capable of touching objects—a little dwarf.
From prefect Percy, everyone learned his name.
Peeves—the mischievous poltergeist who loved throwing wands and other objects at students' heads.
But he feared the professors. Percy only used the name "Barrow the Blooded" to scare him, and Peeves ran off.
Siron turned his gaze, thoughtful, to where Peeves had disappeared around the corner.
Did Peeves have a physical body?
If he did, could someone pull his hair out?
It was too late now, and too many people were around. Siron decided to ask properly another time.
"You should be cautious around Peeves," Percy reminded them, leading the way.
"Only Barrow the Blooded can control him. He won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."
At the end of the corridor, Percy stopped in front of a portrait of a well-to-do woman.
"Password."
"Dragon dung," Percy said.
The painting wobbled and slid forward, revealing a circular hole in the wall.
This was the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.
Honestly, Siron thought the room was huge—it could fit ten wand shops, and there was even a spiral staircase leading to the second floor.
The boys' dormitory was upstairs.
A five-person dormitory—not impressive. To be honest, seeing the dorm for the first time, he felt more resistance than he had in the Great Hall.
Too many people—it would be inconvenient for certain activities. Couldn't Hogwarts just provide more dorms?
The answer: yes.
When Siron, curious, approached Professor McGonagall to request a single dormitory, the deputy headmistress didn't immediately object.
"May I ask why?" McGonagall set down her quill.
Most Gryffindors preferred communal living, so their dorms were the largest of any house.
In contrast, Ravenclaw had the fewest residents, and also received the most requests for single rooms—probably because the wise preferred solitude.
Unexpectedly, on the first day, Siron, sorted into Gryffindor, requested a single room.
"If I have to give a reason, I'd say I'm worried about disturbing others," Siron said thoughtfully. "The process of making wands is a bit noisy, and after a long day, I don't want to disrupt anyone's rest."
"Making wands…" McGonagall pursed her lips, recalling Siron's other identity. She hadn't expected someone his age to already be taking on this work.
"Very well." She almost didn't hesitate in granting the request.
A perfectly reasonable justification, and Gryffindor happened to have an empty dorm. No need to overthink.
"Here is the key to your new dorm," she said, handing him an antique brass key. "Don't lose it. The door is warded with a lock-reversing spell—you can only open it with this key."
"Also, a reminder: if one day you want to return to the original dorm, you must first get your roommates' consent. Otherwise, I won't approve it."
"Ah, understood," Siron replied casually, unconcerned.
After all, if he wanted to live with others, why go through the trouble of requesting a single dorm?
…
(End of Chapter)