Chapter 8 — A Completely Unsuitable Wand
Hermione sat there in confusion, unable to understand why Siron cared so much about that particular title.
However, seeing how serious he looked, she didn't press the matter. She simply nodded and said, "Alright, no problem."
She might be a bit stubborn and self-righteous, but it wasn't as if she had no emotional intelligence at all… not much, perhaps, but still some.
Since the other party didn't like it, then she simply wouldn't say it. After all, it was just a change in wording—not complicated at all. Easy enough.
"So then, you're a wandmaker?" Hermione asked again.
Siron thought for a moment. "Right now, I can only be considered half of one."
Since Hermione would later become part of the trio, Siron didn't mind chatting with her a bit more. Besides, the train was rocking terribly—trying to read while being jolted back and forth was deeply uncomfortable.
Even Tom, who was usually not picky about his surroundings, couldn't take it. He wriggled out from between the two suitcases and lay woozily on the table.
Siron picked him up, gently smoothing his fur, and continued, "Strictly speaking, I'm still an apprentice. Only after officially selling ten wands can I change my title to wandmaker."
"Then how many have you sold so far?" Hermione asked, though her eyes kept drifting toward the cat in Siron's arms.
No wonder he had used cats as an example earlier.
She also hadn't expected Siron's pet to be an ordinary mixed-breed cat.
So ordinary that calling it a stray wouldn't have felt out of place.
Hermione rarely saw anyone keep this kind of alley cat. Most people she knew preferred prettier, purebred cats—
like shorthairs or Persians.
The Ollivander family made wands; they should be quite wealthy, shouldn't they?
So… was this a matter of personal preference?
Of course, she wouldn't ask such questions out loud—that would be far too rude.
"Officially sold… one," Siron replied casually, scratching Tom's chin, completely unaware of what she was thinking.
"Oh. That really isn't much," Hermione blurted out.
"…Hmm?" Siron stared at her, briefly questioning whether she was actually smart or just clueless. "Have you considered the fact that I'm eleven?"
Eleven years old—hadn't even attended a magic school yet—and already capable of successfully crafting a complete wand and selling it. Did she have any idea how impressive that was?
…Alright. She really didn't.
Seeing the blank look on Hermione's face, Siron rubbed his forehead.
He'd almost forgotten—Hermione's parents were Muggles. Before this, she'd had no contact with the wizarding world. It was normal for her not to understand.
As for Neville beside them… he didn't count. Skip.
Honestly… Merlin's trousers. He rarely tried to show off, and when he finally did, it completely missed the mark.
Siron no longer felt like continuing the conversation, but Hermione clearly had no intention of letting him go so easily.
It was rare for her to meet a wizard willing to talk to her—she had plenty of questions she wanted to ask.
What about Neville?
Ask him one question, get three "I don't know"s. He didn't count.
Neville: ...
To keep the conversation going, Hermione took out her wand.
That beautiful vine-wood wand.
Neville, still not quite sure what was happening, followed suit and took out his own wand when he saw Hermione do so.
Siron glanced at it.
[Cherry wood, unicorn hair core, eleven inches]
[Condition: Damaged]
[Traits: Rejection — Spell effectiveness -50%, spell success rate -50%, high chance of backlash.]
Siron raised his eyes slightly and asked carefully, "That wand of yours… wasn't sold to you by Ollivanders, was it?"
Though it seemed unlikely, he felt it necessary to confirm. If Ollivander had truly been blinded by profit and sold Neville something like this, Siron needed to intervene as soon as possible.
"N-no, it wasn't."
Being addressed directly by Siron made Neville instantly nervous.
"This… this was… my dad's wand," he said in a small, hesitant voice, lowering his head.
His voice was quiet, his face flushed red.
Both Siron and Hermione could tell that he was deeply resistant to this topic.
So Siron didn't pursue it further.
As long as it wasn't one of theirs.
Still, out of a wandmaker's professional responsibility, he offered a piece of advice.
"I'd recommend getting a wand of your own. This one doesn't suit you at all—you'll find it very difficult to use."
Going to school with a wand like that… what was this, thinking the curriculum was too easy and deliberately increasing the difficulty for himself?
"But this is my father's wand," Neville said, lifting his head. This time, surprisingly, he didn't stutter.
"A wand isn't clothing or shoes, nor is it Galleons. It has nothing to do with who it belonged to before," Siron shook his head and explained patiently. "It belongs to one person—and most wands are like that."
He wasn't making this up.
Fred and George were similar enough, weren't they? Their looks and personalities were extremely alike—identical twins, one could even say closer than a typical father-and-son relationship.
Yet their wands were completely different.
Fred's was dogwood, thirteen and three-quarters inches.
George's was beech, thirteen and a half inches.
Aside from both having standard unicorn hair cores, everything else was different.
Neville lowered his head again, wanting to refute Siron's words but not knowing how.
His gran had told him—he needed to become just like his father, the pride of the Longbottom family, and that meant starting by using his father's wand.
And besides… Neville himself wanted to use this wand.
Only when holding it did he feel even the slightest illusion that his parents were still by his side.
His head dipped lower and lower, his unseen face alternating between red and pale.
"Don't say it like that…" Hermione, her sympathy overflowing, couldn't stand it anymore and stepped in to defend Neville.
"It's just a wand. I've never heard of a weapon that stops working just because someone else uses it. I think what really matters is learning spells."
"I've read Spell Analysis and Detailed Explanations and The Most Popular Spells of the Twentieth Century," Hermione said earnestly to Neville, lifting her chin. "They focus on incantations and wrist movements. They don't even mention wands."
"That's because the people who wrote those books never imagined someone would use a wand so clearly unsuited to themselves…" Siron muttered internally.
Choosing a wand that suited you was common knowledge in the wizarding world. There was no need to explicitly state it.
Just like how Muggle books would never open by telling you that someone who's nearsighted shouldn't wear reading glasses.
But… seeing the two of them like this, Siron held his tongue.
One was a Muggle-born first-year, the other someone who prioritized emotion over reason. Saying more would only make him seem cold and heartless.
Once they experienced magic firsthand at school, they would understand just how important a suitable wand truly was to a wizard.
(End of Chapter)