Chapter 18: Only a Wandmaker Could Be This Crazy
Siron had always wondered: a spirit without a body—was it considered a wizard, or was it a special magical creature?
Or more specifically… could it be used as a wand core?
"Maybe I should try it sometime," Siron thought, though he had no idea if any ghost would be willing to cooperate.
With that question lingering, Siron hurried through a quick lunch in the Great Hall and joined the others for their next class:
Professor Snape's Potions.
This time, Siron wasn't late, and he finally witnessed the iconic scene from his memories.
"I can teach you to increase your reputation, brew glory, even stave off death—but only if you aren't the usual fools I meet every day," Snape's voice cut through the classroom like a whip.
He floated around like a gigantic black bat. No student dared meet his gaze or even breathe too loudly.
"Potter, what would happen if I added powdered daffodil root to a mugwort infusion?"
As expected, Snape's eyes zeroed in on Harry.
Harry, naturally, had no idea what to say.
Of course not. Siron had read A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi; these questions were around page 150, meant for third-years.
Expecting a first-year to know third-year material? Don't make me laugh!
Everyone present—even those absent from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff classes—except for Hermione the walking textbook, wouldn't have been able to answer.
"Ollivander!"
Siron had been silently thinking how cunning Snape's question was when his arm got bumped sharply. Turning around, he saw Neville trembling like a quail, while Snape's expression darkened further.
"Seems someone thinks they've already mastered enough to skip my lessons, yes, Mr. Ollivander?"
"Of course not, Professor," Siron forced a smile.
Oops—too absorbed in the spectacle. He had forgotten that Snape hated distractions in his classroom.
"Is that so?" Snape's face was icy. "Then perhaps you can tell Potter the difference between Aconitum naviculare and Wolfsbane aconite?"
"Ah… Aconitum naviculare is a smoked herb. It can be roasted with pine needles, insect grass, trifolium, or beetle shells. The resulting smoke makes certain wand cores more flexible, most commonly used with willow wands."
"Wolfsbane aconite is the same. They're basically the same thing."
Siron answered smoothly. Some students instinctively reached for parchment and quills to take notes.
Their lack of preparation was evident—they hadn't even heard of this.
"Stop! There's no need to write this down!" Snape shouted.
Everyone froze mid-motion.
Snape looked at Siron again, his eye twitching.
Truthfully, Siron wasn't wrong.
These details came from Sigismund Batch's The Book of Potions, Volume III: Potions and Wand Core Synergy.
Strictly speaking, this wasn't a standard potion textbook—it was a love letter Batch wrote in his youth for a girl obsessed with wandlore.
Completely useless as a reference for potions, yet Sigismund Batch was so famous—one of the most renowned medieval potion masters and founder of the Extraordinary Alchemists Association—that even his casual writings were later compiled into The Book of Potions, the definitive authority on potion-making.
Still, it was essentially useless…
No, wait. Siron was an Ollivander—he could actually use this information!
By Merlin's beard!
Snape must have felt miserable—more so than giving Gryffindor fifty points.
He wished he had never seen The Book of Potions, so he could deduct points without hesitation.
But a potion master who hadn't read The Book of Potions? That's like a house-elf that doesn't sweep, or Dumbledore who dislikes sweets—a joke that could make history's coldest list.
"Sit down!" Snape pinched his nose in reluctant acceptance, glanced at Siron, and walked away.
Aconite—the rarest ingredient, even more expensive per ounce than dragon blood! Making a potion with it would be such a waste to roast into wood smoke!
Ugh!
Only a wandmaker could think this way!
Siron blinked in confusion, unable to understand why Snape suddenly got angry.
Aconitum naviculare and Wolfsbane aconite were the same—he hadn't been wrong. He had even explained its uses.
Siron remembered reading this at nine years old in The Book of Potions—he was certain he was correct.
Unable to make sense of it, Siron could only blame Harry.
He must have gotten caught up in this somehow!
There was some good news, though: for the rest of the Potions class, Snape ignored him entirely. Even during homework checks, he only glanced at Siron briefly before moving on.
"What's the point? At least give me one point," Siron muttered under his breath, looking at the bright pink potion in his cauldron.
It was the standard potion for treating boils, flawless.
Siron had confidence in his potion-making skills—after all, as a wandmaker, he often had to tailor infusions based on the wand core materials.
This was no simple task—even his dorm's universal potion variant took about six hours to brew.
By comparison, making a boil potion was a breeze.
Yet Snape didn't even glance at it.
This petty old bat.
Siron grumbled as he left the dungeon classroom.
He didn't care about the House points. The problem was Snape's blatant targeting—so excessive that even an adult would feel tempted to punch him twice.
Siron, of course, felt the same.
"Snape is just… completely unreasonable," Ron whispered, walking beside him. "Fred told me he never gives Gryffindor points."
"That's wrong!" Hermione hurried up.
"Siron was the only one who made the boil potion correctly. He can't just ignore it. We should go to Professor McGonagall."
"In fact, he can," Ron shrugged.
"Oh, can I come with you to see Hagrid?" Harry asked.
At lunch, he had received a note from Hagrid, inviting him to tea at three o'clock.
It was almost three now.
"Of course," Harry said, then looked at Siron. "Do you want to come? I remember you said you needed to help him fix something."
"Ah, yes," Siron nodded. "But I have other things to do later, so I won't go with you."
"I see. That's fine." Harry didn't insist. After leaving the dungeon classroom, he went with Ron to find Hagrid.
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(End of Chapter)