Chapter 20: The Wand Core Supplier
From morning to noon, and then into the afternoon.
By the time Siron finally looked up, eight hours had passed.
He had spent a full eight hours repairing the wand—far more exhausting than carving a new one from scratch.
Fortunately, the result was excellent.
The wand, split into three parts, was now whole again, and the web-like cracks had completely vanished.
The original repair charm embedded in the wand had helped immensely, greatly boosting Siron's efficiency.
"Is it done?" Hagrid asked nervously.
He had stood there the entire time while Siron worked, not moving a muscle.
"Almost," Siron said, taking out a long-necked vial filled with green liquid and placing the wand inside.
"The Rejuvenation Elixir will stimulate the wand's growth a second time, healing the broken sections. Combined with the original repair charm, your wand should be fully restored in about a week."
"Really?" Hagrid's eyes lit up. He carefully accepted the vial from Siron.
"Of course," Siron said. "You can still use the wand if you need it. Just return it to this elixir afterward, and it won't interfere with the repair."
"That's wonderful… I don't even know how to thank you."
"Simple," Siron said with a smile, revealing his purpose. "Just bring me some magical creature materials from the Forbidden Forest."
He had thought of this plan years ago but hadn't had the chance to meet Hagrid.
"Of course, no problem," Hagrid replied without hesitation. He fumbled around a bit before finding a dirty mat.
"How about this?"
Hmm… a mat woven from unicorn hair.
"Unicorns are out of the question," Siron said, shaking his head. He didn't take it.
His grandfather, Ollivander, had already verified that the only perfect unicorn wand cores came from the tail hair. Siron could technically twist other parts into cores, but there was no reason to do so.
All parts came from the same magical creature, but if tail hair represented a perfect one-hundred-point wand core, other parts could at best reach seventy—or even fifty points.
Why waste time making an inferior core if a perfect one is available?
Unless Hagrid could somehow get a unicorn heart—but even Ollivander couldn't manage that. After death, a unicorn's body rapidly merges with the earth, so Siron didn't expect it.
Siron then told Hagrid his specific requirements.
Aside from unicorn tail hair, anything else was fair game—carapaces, scales, fur, teeth—he would accept it all. Dead magical creatures were even better.
Hagrid hesitated for a long moment.
"This is the process of wandmaking," Siron said softly. "My grandfather spent ten years discovering the three wand cores best suited to him: unicorn, phoenix, and fire dragon."
"And this is the process I have to repeat—I need to find the core that belongs to me."
"But… Mr. Ollivander already found them, right?" Hagrid asked. "Can't you just use those cores?"
"I could," Siron said. "But if I do, I'll never become the top wandmaker myself."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not my grandfather," Siron said. "Here's the thing: in the last century, when my great-grandmother ran the wand shop, most wizards used cores like Thunderbird feathers, Basilisk horn needles, and Kelpie mane hair."
"Those things can make wands?" Hagrid asked.
"Of course," Siron said. "Kelpie mane makes the best transfiguration wands. Basilisk horn needles double the efficiency of dark magic. But my grandfather disliked them—he always said Kelpie mane had a strange seaweed taste."
Hagrid listened, fascinated. He had never imagined the Ollivander family had such interesting stories.
He had assumed that the thousands of wands in the Diagon Alley shop and their crafting methods were simply passed down through generations.
"So… you're looking for your own wand core too?" Hagrid asked, starting to understand.
"You could put it that way," Siron said, nodding hesitantly.
His situation was unusual; he couldn't be considered a traditional wandmaker.
After all, no one in his family line—even his grandfather or great-grandmother, stretching back centuries—had ever put a toad's tongue in a wand.
So his possibilities were broader, and he had to begin preparation as early as possible.
The Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts was an ideal choice. With Hagrid's help, he didn't need to worry about danger—two goals accomplished at once.
By evening, Siron left Hagrid's hut.
Hagrid agreed to his request and even offered to help locate Bowtruckle nests.
After all, if the wand core was secured, the wand body couldn't be neglected. For Hagrid, these tasks were trivial—easily done while patrolling the forest.
However, Hagrid repeatedly warned Siron not to sneak into the forest on his own, or he wouldn't help him again.
Siron naturally agreed without hesitation.
He was only a first-year—venturing alone into the Forbidden Forest out of impatience would be reckless. Getting Hagrid's assistance was the safest choice.
By the time Siron returned to the castle, it was just in time for dinner.
The Great Hall was bustling—the first weekend after term started. Even Dumbledore was present, sitting at the staff table chatting and laughing with Snape.
To the left were Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout.
"Hey, Siron…"
Harry waved from across the hall. "Where have you been? We've been looking for you all day."
"At Hagrid's," Siron said. "Remember? I had to help him fix something."
"Hagrid…" Harry paused, glancing instinctively at Ron.
Ron happened to be looking at him too.
Their eyes met, then both quickly shifted elsewhere.
If anything, it was obvious these two couldn't keep a secret. Anyone—even Neville—could see something was up.
But Harry said nothing, and Siron didn't ask.
He had no interest in the Chosen One's curiosity about the magical world. More important matters awaited.
Dinner was more lavish than usual, with thick corn soup and large cuts of roast beef, all quite tasty.
Nearby, Harry and Ron were discussing Slytherin's Malfoy. Siron caught a few words—they had apparently run into him in the corridors that morning and had a minor verbal clash.
Ron even asked Siron's opinion, but he said nothing.
Since being sorted into Gryffindor, Malfoy's enthusiasm toward him had rapidly cooled—they hadn't spoken since.
Oddly, Malfoy still hadn't returned for the deposit he left on the ship for the Chameleon Spray—about thirty Galleons.
Neither canceling the order nor paying the remaining balance, as if he had forgotten entirely.
But Siron didn't care. He wasn't in a hurry, and neither was Malfoy.
…
(End of Chapter)