Chapter 10 — In Truth, Everyone Is Mixed-Blood
Twenty minutes later, Hermione finally understood what kind of transportation Siron had been talking about.
She never would have imagined, even in her dreams, that first-year students would be taking boats to school. And at the same time, she saw the towering castle standing at the far end of the lake.
Windows glimmered beneath the starlit sky—mysterious and breathtakingly beautiful.
Most of the other first-years were captivated by the sight as well, standing there dumbly, unable to move.
"Quickly now, first-years! If you want to sit inside a warm castle and enjoy a hearty dinner, hurry up and get on the boats!"
"And remember—no more than four people per boat!"
"Harry, over here. The rest, follow behind." Hagrid guided the students in an orderly fashion.
"Hey, I know you."
Siron looked up at the boy speaking to him.
Platinum-blond hair, pale complexion, an expression that looked arrogant and faintly sharp.
He seemed to be sulking over an argument with someone—probably having come out on the losing end—because his tone carried a noticeable edge.
"I remember you," he said again. "You were the one at the wand shop, right?"
"Yes," Siron replied, glancing at the two boys beside him—thick-set and burly, like a pair of wooden posts.
"Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," the boy said. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. I assume you're the same kind of person as us."
Siron raised an eyebrow. "If you mean pure-bloods, then yes."
"Then you definitely know who I am, right?" Malfoy continued. "Or are you like some people—ignorant and stupid?"
His voice suddenly grew louder, as if deliberately meant for someone else to hear.
Siron guessed it was the boat beside them—more specifically, the boy sitting to the left, with a scar on his forehead.
Harry Potter.
Still, showing off family prestige here—was Malfoy so angry that his brain had short-circuited?
"Allow me to introduce myself—Siron Ollivander." Looking at the faintly smug Malfoy, Siron couldn't help but smile.
"In fact, when the first Malfoy rose to prominence, the Ollivanders had already existed on this land for eighteen hundred years. Can you understand what I'm saying?"
Silence instantly fell over the boat.
Then, from the neighboring boat, came a very obvious, completely unrestrained snort of laughter.
Malfoy's pale face flushed red at once.
Even when Harry Potter had humiliated him on the train, he hadn't turned this red. And now he was being "humiliated" here—but on second thought, what Siron said was entirely true.
Siron wanted to laugh as well, but he held it in.
It could only be said that Malfoy had brought this upon himself.
If they were talking about sheer amounts of gold, the Ollivander family might rank near the bottom among pure-blood families.
But if the topic was heritage and history—sorry, but among all the pure-blood families in Britain, not a single one could compete. That included Hogwarts itself, and even Merlin.
Hogwarts was founded a thousand years ago, in the tenth century.
The legends of Merlin and King Arthur dated back to the sixth century.
And Ollivander… it was written right on the signboard—382 BC. More than nine hundred years earlier than Merlin.
Siron looked at Malfoy's flushed face and spread his hands.
"Tsk. You clearly saw me in the wand shop—why bother?"
He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but the air around them seemed to get a little warmer.
Still, Siron had no intention of making things too awkward.
"Let's do a proper introduction. Siron Ollivander. And I really do know you… Hawthorn wood, unicorn hair, ten inches, right?"
The olive branch was offered at exactly the right moment. Malfoy's expression visibly returned to normal.
He really wanted to slap that hand away—but after hesitating for only a moment, he abandoned the thought and reached out as well.
"Draco Malfoy."
"You already said that once."
"You'll definitely be sorted into Slytherin," Malfoy immediately changed the subject.
"Perhaps," Siron said.
After all, did he really need to explain the significance of 382 BC?
It was just that the Ollivanders never cared about anything beyond wands. Otherwise, if one really wanted to argue about so-called pure bloodlines, even Salazar Slytherin himself would have to stand further back in line.
But that sort of thing was meaningless anyway. If you traced it back far enough, everyone was mixed-blood.
Once things had been smoothed over on this side, the neighboring boat was far more disappointed.
"I thought Malfoy was going to get taught a lesson," Ron sighed, but quickly broke into a grin. "Still, that works too. Did you see his face just now? It was redder than the train."
"Yeah, I saw it," Harry Potter nodded.
"Wait a second," Hermione suddenly spoke up from across from them. "That Ollivander family—do they really have eighteen hundred years of history?"
"P-probably?" Ron scratched his head.
To be honest, he wasn't sure either.
He only knew that the name Ollivander was famous. Every wand in his family was made by Ollivander—including his grandfather's, and his great-grandfather's as well.
As for exactly how long the Ollivanders had existed?
Who went around checking things like that?
The four of them fell into collective silence… no one knew what the others were thinking. Meanwhile, Siron and Malfoy were actually getting along fairly well.
In just a short while, Malfoy had already asked three times in a row whether it was really possible to make a wand turn silver-green.
In response, Siron—who had "accidentally" let something slip—shrugged and said the research was ongoing, the technique wasn't mature yet, and patience was required.
"I'll pay extra—any number of Galleons!" Malfoy pounded his chest confidently.
Silver base, green patterns—the exact colors of the Slytherin emblem. This was a must-have. Without it, was it even Slytherin?
As the boat passed the center of the lake, the bright moonlight illuminated the flush on Malfoy's face—this time from excitement.
Siron glanced at the thirty Galleons' worth of deposit in his hand and curled his lips slightly.
Looks like his earlier idea really was viable. Coming to Hogwarts was the right move—this money was genuinely easy to… earn.
…
Under this rather peculiar atmosphere, the boats finally reached the opposite shore.
Hagrid walked at the front, climbed the stone steps, raised his massive fist, and knocked three times on the castle doors.
The doors opened, and Professor McGonagall, her expression severe, appeared before them, ready to lead the first-years into the Great Hall.
Siron was still at the very back. Just as he entered the castle, Hagrid—who was about to leave—suddenly stopped.
"Those things you said back in the wand shop… were they true?" he asked in a deliberately lowered voice, nervously glancing inside the castle, as if afraid Professor McGonagall might overhear.
But by then, she had already entered the Great Hall, so naturally she didn't hear him.
"What do you mean?"
"About… my umbrella…" Hagrid looked even more nervous, subconsciously patting his coat pocket.
"Oh, of course they're true," Siron said. "If you need it."
"I live near the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid said quickly, as if finally letting out a huge sigh of relief.
(End of Chapter)