Chapter 17: Professor Quirrell's Scarf
That night and into the early hours, Siron kept thinking about why the wand had been successfully made.
He considered many possibilities, but the most convincing one seemed to be Ron's intense desire to own his very own wand. That strong emotion had influenced the final result.
And it was highly likely.
In the wizarding world, emotions were a type of special magic—and an important one at that.
Many spells relied on emotion to succeed. Take the Patronus Charm, for example. It required drawing on joyful memories and feelings.
Or Apparition—if you don't truly believe you can do it, the spell will fail. Determination, in essence, was powered by emotion.
With that in mind, it wasn't surprising that Ron could influence the outcome of a spell.
Still… those two traits on the wand didn't really suit Ron.
Poison curses—the Fire Roasting, the Tarantella dance—all poison spells that caused trouble but weren't lethal.
Was Ron really skilled in these spells? Probably not.
And the Exploding Spell? That was clearly Seamus' signature… though maybe it could belong to the Red Hat.
This thing loved to explode. Honestly, even a fire lizard's tail seemed more stable than it.
By early midnight, utterly exhausted, Siron rubbed his forehead, changed into pajamas, and lay down.
Well… whatever, he had succeeded.
According to his past experience, once a wand was successfully made, using the same core again greatly increased the chance of success in the future.
So, an unexpected bonus—yet a significant one.
After all, compared to unicorns or fire dragons, a Red Hat was cheap. When he bought Red Hat hearts in Diagon Alley, they were sold by the pound: five per pound, two Sickles, and often a few extra toad tongues or lizard tails were included.
Roughly calculating, the cost of a single Red Hat heart core was… less than twenty Knuts.
Ollivander had always believed that cores made from such dark creatures were unstable and couldn't resonate with a wizard's magic—he thought Siron was wasting his effort.
But he had actually done it!
"No!" Siron suddenly sat up in bed.
Whether for showing off or for some other reason, he had to write Ollivander a letter…
Still asleep? Wake up and question your life!
He didn't even wait until morning. In the dead of night, he quietly left the common room and went to the Owlery.
On the way, he ran into the Weasley twins.
According to them, Mrs. Loris was still in the infirmary, and Filch couldn't manage alone. Such a rare night-time outing couldn't be missed.
They even praised Siron's behavior, saying he was a true Gryffindor.
Hmm…
Words are one thing, but scolding is still on you!
After parting ways with the twins, Siron hurried to the Owlery, sent off the letter and wand, then returned along the same path to the Gryffindor common room.
Just as the twins had said, it was a perfect night for sneaking about—he didn't encounter Filch once.
But the consequence was that he was late the next day—during Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class.
"Sorry, Professor. I got lost," Siron said awkwardly at the door.
"That excuse has already been used by Potter and Weasley," McGonagall said, pursing her lips.
"I expect a different one from you. I don't think a first-year needs three maps of the castle."
"Sorry, Professor. It won't happen again," Siron sighed.
"I hope you remember that promise," she said. "Gryffindor loses two points. Now, find a seat quickly—we're starting class."
Siron hurried to the back row, a bit frustrated.
Because of last night's adventure, he'd overslept, unsurprisingly.
It was the first Transfiguration lesson—meaning he had missed Professor McGonagall's famous Animagus demonstration!
During the first Transfiguration lesson, she transformed into a tabby cat in front of the class, then back into human form to impress the students with a little magical spectacle.
Siron was so late, and with two other students arriving just before him, he missed it entirely.
Blame Harry and Ron!
Siron silently decided to add another Galleon to Ron's wand price.
Don't ask why. Just know he wasn't playing fair.
The lesson itself was simple: basic Transfiguration—turn a matchstick into a needle.
Of course, "simple" was relative. For first-years, even basic Transfiguration was enough to make them scratch their heads.
By the end of class, only two students had successfully transformed their matchsticks.
One was Hermione, the other was Siron.
And Siron was the first to complete it, earning back the two points he had lost.
Hermione wasn't pleased—she suspected he had practiced beforehand.
Which was fair.
Typically, wizards receive their first wand at age eleven, before starting Hogwarts. But Siron already had a wand at nine—actually, more than one.
He had painstakingly made his wand so he could experience magic early.
If he didn't do something, the wand would've been wasted.
After Transfiguration came Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Quirrell's class turned into a joke. His long, thick scarf constantly emitted a strong garlic smell.
"Worse than your wand-soaking potion," Seamus commented after class.
"Hey, that was herbs and tree oils," Siron countered. "A pint costs five Galleons."
"Five Galleons?!" Seamus' voice rose in shock.
That was his entire year's pocket money!
"Making wands is an expensive business," Siron said.
"Five Galleons per wand soak?" Harry asked.
"No, it soaks about a hundred wands at a time."
"Ah?"
"Still more expensive than garlic, though."
"That's true."
They chatted as they walked toward the Great Hall.
"By the way," Harry suddenly said, "Siron, why were you staring at Professor Quirrell the whole time in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
"I was staring? Really?" Siron blinked.
"Yes, we all saw it," Neville said quietly, offering a fair observation.
"That obvious?"
Everyone nodded.
In class, anything could happen—but Siron had been staring at Quirrell's head the entire time. Could it not be obvious?
"I was just curious what was under his scarf—if he really had a string of garlic hidden there," Siron said. "Aren't you curious?"
"Uh… curious," the others admitted honestly.
"…But we wouldn't stare," Harry continued. "Didn't you notice? Professor Quirrell started avoiding you during the second half of class."
"Really? I'll keep that in mind next time."
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(End of Chapter)