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In fact, Robert had spent a long time last night mulling over an important decision: whether to use the spine as the wand's core or as its body.
Historically, the wizarding world had seen wands made of all sorts of unconventional materials—bone, stone, metal, crystal, mithril, even gold. Back then, the magical system was chaotic and unregulated, and wands were mostly custom-crafted based on an individual's unique magical talents and preferences.
It wasn't until the era of King Arthur that the legendary wizard Merlin began to systematically compile and organize his vast ocean of magical knowledge. He passed this knowledge to Arthur's knights and their apprentices, sparking a wide and structured transmission of magical education.
This shift soon influenced wand-making. Since Merlin himself used a wooden wand, wooden wands became the norm with the rise of mainstream magic. Gradually, those strange, custom wands faded into obscurity. The Ollivander family still had records of them, and if Robert wanted to, he could find detailed information about bone wand bodies.
Crafting the spine into a wand core would have actually been the easier path. But ultimately, Robert decided against it.
The problem wasn't practicality—it was optics. Wielding a wand made from a spine would be far too disturbing in appearance. People would definitely assume he was a dark wizard. And Robert didn't want to be constantly monitored by Aurors.
Besides, though it was more troublesome to turn the spine into a wand core, it wasn't impossible. He would just need to invest more time and patience—perhaps time others would spend watching Quidditch.
At eleven in the morning, the Quidditch match began. But Robert remained focused, still holding his wand and tapping it around the spine. Nearby, Hagrid stood awkwardly, stuck in a dilemma.
He had two choices: stay and keep an eye on Robert, whose behavior looked suspiciously like a dark ritual, or head over to the Quidditch pitch and cheer for Harry, who was participating in his very first match.
Hagrid wanted to do both, but unfortunately, he couldn't be in two places at once. He paced anxiously for a few minutes, until loud cheers erupted from the pitch. Finally, he made a decision.
He chose to trust Robert.
Though the idea of turning a five-foot-long bone into a wand core sounded absurd to him, Hagrid believed Robert wasn't lying. Besides, it had been a dull morning—Robert had been repeating the same movements for almost two hours. Watching Quidditch was bound to be more exciting.
Hagrid rushed to the pitch and arrived just in time to witness Harry diving at top speed on his broomstick. A moment later, Harry clutched something small and golden in his hand.
"I've got the Snitch!" Harry shouted triumphantly, raising his hand high.
Hagrid groaned internally—he had only just arrived, hadn't even found a seat yet, and the match was already over! But that feeling was quickly replaced by excitement as he joined the chorus of cheering Gryffindors.
Very few Seekers could catch the Golden Snitch in their debut match. Harry clearly had real talent.
As the match ended and the crowd began to disperse, Hagrid made his way back to his wooden hut.
"You missed a brilliant game, Robert," Hagrid said, practically beaming. "Gryffindor won, and Harry caught the Snitch!"
"Is that so? What a shame," Robert replied without even turning around. His tone was flat—completely uninterested.
To him, unless a broomstick had a wand core installed, Quidditch just wasn't that compelling.
"Wait a moment..."
Hagrid suddenly paused and turned toward the fireplace, his brow furrowing. Was it an illusion? Why did the bone seem... smaller?
If he remembered correctly, the spine had been five feet long and as thick as a bowl. Now it looked more like four feet long and as thick as a teacup.
"Did you get a new one?" Hagrid asked, puzzled.
"Where would I get another one?" Robert said with a shrug.
If it were that easy to replace, he wouldn't have dragged himself out here early on a weekend morning. He could've stayed comfortably in his dorm.
"Then what happened to it?"
"Necessary processing," Robert replied calmly. "I just wanted to challenge myself with this material. I'm not planning to make a wand for a Giant."
Making a wand for a Giant—just the thought made Robert shudder. If that kind of rumor spread, the Aurors wouldn't wait until morning. They'd probably toss him into Azkaban that very night.
Certain boundaries were non-negotiable. According to wizarding law, creatures like Centaurs, Giants, Merpeople, Goblins, and House-Elves were strictly forbidden from possessing or using wands. Even giving them one was a serious offense—Azkaban-level serious.
Robert had no desire to attract that kind of trouble from the Ministry.
Hagrid leaned in for a closer look. Sure enough, there were no signs of carving, sawing, or wear. The spine had simply shrunk in perfect proportion.
"How did you manage that?"
"Just a little trick," Robert said, massaging his sore wrist.
"Ah, I get it now," Hagrid nodded with admiration. "Must be a special Ollivander technique—amazing stuff."
"Something like that," Robert replied, offering no further explanation.
The methods commonly used by the Ollivander family certainly couldn't handle a troll's spine. This was a unique skill that only Robert had mastered. Though he didn't say it aloud, he was technically still an Ollivander, so Hagrid wasn't wrong.
"What are you planning to do next?" Hagrid asked, pouring him a cup of pine needle tea. "Keep shrinking it?"
"Not immediately. I need to rest," Robert said, taking a sip. The tea had an odd taste, but it was tolerable.
He was still too young, and his current reserves of magical power and stamina weren't enough to finish the task all at once. But there was no rush. He could use the time to start working on the wand body.
Robert's eyes shifted to the table nearby, where an hour earlier, Hagrid had placed the troll's wooden club.
Robert walked over and gripped it with both hands, preparing to move it. But to his embarrassment, he failed on the first try. On the second, his face flushed red with effort—and the club only wobbled slightly.
"Need a hand?" Hagrid asked as he placed the kettle on the stove and stepped closer.
"No, no need!" Robert quickly waved him off. "I was just... checking the material. The troll had surprisingly good taste—he picked an oak club."
"Really?"
"Of course. I'm a wandmaker." Robert pulled out his wand.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The club floated into the air and landed heavily in front of him with a dull thud.
Robert raised an eyebrow. Magic really did make everything easier.
Knock, knock...
Suddenly, a knock came from outside the hut.
"Hagrid, are you home? We've come to see you!"
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