Chapter 7 — Don't Call Me a Wand Crafter
The Hogwarts Express was an old-fashioned steam train—slow, not particularly comfortable, with its only real advantage being that passengers could freely enjoy the scenery along the way.
At least, that was what Siron had heard from other wizards. As for what it was actually like, he was about to find out himself.
Siron hadn't arrived especially early. Many of the compartments were already full.
Finally, near the rear of the train, he found an empty one.
"Not bad," Siron muttered, drawing his wand and pointing it at his luggage trunk, flicking it upward slightly.
"Wingardium Leviosa…"
The trunk floated up in a rather awkward manner, wobbling unsteadily. After drifting forward with great difficulty for a short distance, it was finally shoved onto the luggage rack by Siron.
"It's Levi-o-sa, not Leviosar—your pronunciation and the pause are both wrong."
The sudden voice startled Siron. A brown-haired girl pushed open the compartment door from outside and walked straight in, sitting down across from him.
Trailing behind her was a timid-looking, round-faced boy.
"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Neville Longbottom," the girl said.
"Hello. I'm Siron Ollivander," Siron replied.
"We were looking for a place to sit, and we happened to see you using the Levitation Charm when we passed by," Hermione rattled on without pause. "I've tried it too—it works quite well. I mean, I've already memorized Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, and I bought several extra reference books as well. What about you?"
By the time she reached the end, her voice had grown noticeably louder, her tone faintly overbearing.
"I didn't memorize it," Siron said bluntly. "And I don't think first-years need to waste time memorizing all their textbooks before school even starts."
Hermione froze for a moment, clearly not expecting that answer.
The atmosphere instantly became a little awkward. Neville desperately wanted to say something to ease the stiffness but had no idea what to say, growing flustered and pacing in place.
But he was worrying for nothing.
Neither Siron nor Hermione took the small incident to heart.
Siron simply didn't care, and Hermione was already used to it.
"There's only me in here. If you don't mind, we can share the compartment," Siron said.
"Thank you," Hermione replied.
In truth, she had no intention of leaving anyway—the train was about to depart, and it would be hard to find another empty compartment now.
After stowing his luggage, Siron took out a thick, hardbound book and began reading intently by the window.
Outside, parents seeing their children off filled the platform with noise and chatter, but Siron paid it no mind.
He read with complete focus, occasionally pulling out a small wooden stick and scraping it a few times with the knife he carried on him.
At some point, the train had already left the station, leaving behind fields of wheat and distant villages.
Yet the compartment didn't grow any quieter.
The main reason was Hermione.
From the moment she sat down, her mouth hadn't stopped. She kept telling Neville about what books she'd read over the holidays, how many she'd memorized.
Chattering nonstop—like a macaw proudly showing off its feathers.
Siron had long known Hermione's personality, but experiencing it firsthand made him realize that she really was a bit… irritating at this stage.
He genuinely didn't understand how she could talk about a handful of basic spells for two straight hours without getting bored.
Even more terrifying was Neville.
He kept nodding along in agreement, showing not the slightest hint of impatience.
Siron had assumed it would continue like this all the way to Hogwarts—but it didn't take long for him to realize he was wrong.
Hermione's attention eventually shifted to him.
"What book are you reading…?" She clearly had wanted to ask this for a while, craning her neck to peer over at Siron.
"Maybe we could exchange ideas. I bought a lot of extra books too—A History of Modern Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. What's yours called—"
As Hermione leaned over, Siron reflexively snapped the book shut, blocking her view.
The near-cold gesture made Hermione's expression change for the first time. She looked visibly annoyed.
"I'm not trying to read it for free—I can lend you my books too…"
"No, you misunderstand."
Siron shook his head quickly and explained, "This is actually a magical book. If you look at its contents carelessly, it might cause you some trouble."
"A magical… book?"
Judging by Hermione's expression, she clearly didn't believe him.
How could a book be something you weren't allowed to read?
Besides, she'd been to Diagon Alley's bookstores—she could read all the books there just fine.
"He… he's right," Neville spoke up softly, helping explain when he saw Hermione's reaction.
"There are a lot of books in the wizarding world that you shouldn't read casually." Though his voice was quiet, his expression was unusually serious.
"My gran once told me about someone who read a cursed book and afterward could only say one word per second. I don't know if it's true."
"It's true," Siron said quietly. "I've actually met that person."
"You've met them?!" Hermione's eyes widened, her voice shooting up.
She looked at Siron, then at the book, and abruptly scooted backward, pressing herself tightly against the compartment wall.
She definitely didn't want to be limited to one word per second. That was terrifying.
"You're overthinking it. This one isn't like that," Siron said, lifting the book and giving it a light shake.
On the cover were two crossed wands, the lettering faded and blurred with age.
Hermione could only barely make out the word "Ollivander" on the wand.
Wait—Ollivander…
"I remember now!" she suddenly shouted, startling Neville.
She didn't notice at all, staring straight at Siron instead. "I've seen you—at the wand shop. You were standing next to Mr. Ollivander."
"Well, that's impressive," Siron said calmly. "You even remembered the wandmaker's name."
"If your memory were just a little better, you might also recall my introduction earlier."
"Siron Ollivander."
Hermione's face flushed again.
Earlier, she'd been so focused on correcting Siron's spellcasting that she hadn't paid any attention to his self-introduction at all.
"Of course I remember… I just… didn't connect it…" she said stubbornly, forcing out an explanation.
Siron didn't press the matter. He simply rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.
Those people hadn't exaggerated at all—the Hogwarts Express was terribly uncomfortable, jolting him until he felt sore.
Across from him, Hermione kept staring at him, mouth slightly open, as if she wanted to say something but was hesitating.
That hesitation didn't last long.
Just as Siron was about to resume reading—
"So… you're a wand crafter too?"
Siron's expression shifted slightly. He looked at the two of them with seriousness and composure.
"If possible," he said, "I'd prefer you use a more formal title—wandmaker."
"Is there a difference?" Hermione asked.
Siron didn't answer immediately. After a brief pause, he said,
"Think of it as the difference between a cat and a tabby."
(End of Chapter)