Chapter 270. Flamewood Wand
The Grangers had never imagined that one day they would be guests in a wizard's home—and that this wizard would be their child's teacher.
At first they were a little nervous, but after about an hour together, they relaxed.
Wizards, it turned out, weren't so very different from ordinary people; apart from that little stick that glowed, everything else felt perfectly normal.
And just as their beloved daughter had said, Professor Wesson was very friendly—no doubt about it.
They had run into other wizards in Diagon Alley before, but those wizards had always looked at them with a sort of lofty curiosity, as if they were observing some rare animal.
"Ah, Mr Granger," said Wesson, a deep-red stick somehow appearing in his hand, "could you help me with something?"
"Of course." Mr Granger set his teacup to hover in mid-air and stood up, intrigued. "What do you need me to do?"
Wesson smiled and handed him the little stick. "Please hold this."
Mr Granger took it carefully and felt a faint heat. "What is it?"
"A wand."
"A wand?!"
Mr Granger jumped. He knew perfectly well what a wand meant. He had even tried waving his daughter's little stick before, but he had never managed to make anything float.
"Try giving it a wave," Wesson encouraged.
"Th-this… is it really all right?" Mr Granger looked nervous. "I mean, aren't Muggles unable to—"
"More or less, but this isn't you truly using magic," Wesson said with a wink. "Magic requires magical power and an incantation. All you need to do is wave it. Trust me, it'll be a nice experience."
Mr Granger gave the wand the slightest flick. The tip suddenly spat a mass of orange-red flame which shot straight up to the ceiling; on touching it, the fire rebounded and fell directly onto the curtain behind the sofa.
The curtain burst into flames.
Harry whipped out his wand and aimed at the hapless curtain. "Aguamenti."
A clear jet of water gushed from the tip of Harry's wand, dousing the burning curtain with pinpoint accuracy. The flames died, leaving only a thread of blue smoke.
"I… am terribly sorry."
Watching this, Mr Granger had gone rather pale. His hand was still shaking, as though he had almost caused a house fire.
Wesson chuckled softly. "In fact—splendidly done, Mr Granger. You did very well. You too, Harry."
Hermione hopped down from the sofa and ran to Mr Granger's side. "Dad, did you actually use magic?"
Mr Granger hesitated, then nodded. "Ah—yes, Mr Granger successfully released that burst of flame," Wesson explained to Hermione, turning to her. "But that isn't a normal Fire-Making Spell, Hermione. It's a function of this wand. There's some special magical energy stored inside it."
At this, Hermione's attention fixed on the deep-red wand.
It didn't look so different from an ordinary wand, except the colour was odd—so odd she couldn't tell what wood it was made from.
"Crafted from a special Flamewood," Wesson said, as if reading Hermione's thoughts. "The core is a mixture of a Salamander's mane and a phoenix tail feather. This combination allows the magic within the Flamewood to be released as fire, even triggered by someone without magical talent. The only drawback is…"
"Not very stable."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the wand in Mr Granger's hand began to shudder violently. It shot into the air and burst like a firework,
scattering into countless tiny sparks that whirled around the sitting room.
Harry raised his wand again, then froze mid-gesture—he had no idea what spell would fix this. Under everyone's astonished gaze, Wesson lifted his hand lightly; the sparks halted in mid-air, as though someone had pressed pause.
Next, the sparks began to gather, reforming into a phantom Salamander.
Mr Granger watched, entranced. He reached out without thinking to touch it. The Salamander swam over at once and coiled affectionately round his finger—warming it through.
"Amazing…" he breathed.
Seeing this, Wesson nodded, satisfied.
For the first wand he had ever made, this was already quite good.
What was more, this wasn't an ordinary wand. Its wood came from his mutated Flamewood tree; it was the Flamewood that had bestowed this special ability.
The Salamander didn't linger long. Soon, it faded into the air. Mr Granger stared a little blankly at the faint embers left floating.
Evening drew on.
The Grangers' extraordinary day came to an end.
To Mr Granger, today felt like a dream.
"Thank you for having us, Professor Wesson," Mr Granger said at the door, looking somewhat regretful. "We'd have loved to stay longer, but we've work tomorrow."
"What is it you do again?"
"Dentists. My wife and I both are."
"Cool," Wesson nodded. "Though unfortunately, wizards don't need dentists. We don't get cavities, and if we want our teeth adjusted, a wave of the wand will do it."
"Ah, I see." Mr Granger gave Hermione a sideways glance. "Hermione's never mentioned it. So if she wanted to straighten her teeth, it would be easy? No wonder she never wanted us to touch her front teeth."
"Dad!"
Hermione puffed out her cheeks, face pink.
She didn't care in the least about her two protruding front teeth… well, all right, sometimes she did—but it wasn't important. She didn't want to discuss it in public.
"All right, I've said too much." Mr Granger smiled. "Oh, it's getting late. Goodbye, Professor Wesson. Please look after Hermione for the time being."
"Of course," Wesson said with a nod.
Yes—Hermione wanted to stay at Wesson's for a while. Wesson didn't mind; another pair of chopsticks—er… well… another pair of forks.
Mrs Granger stepped forward to straighten Hermione's collar and said, "Remember to write, dear. And don't stay up reading all night."
"I know, Mum."
The Grangers left Privet Drive before nightfall.
Hermione went back into the shop and flopped onto the sofa with Harry.
"I can't believe Dad actually agreed to let me stay here," Hermione said, legs kicking in delight. "I thought they'd insist I come home for the summer."
Harry, with a Mandrake leaf in his mouth, mumbled a vague response.
Wesson refreshed the Muggle-Repelling Charm and, coming in the door, said to Hermione, "Your room's on the second floor to the right. Mine's on the left. I've already had Dobby tidy it."
"Dobby?" Hermione looked puzzled. "That House-elf from earlier?"
"Yes. He'll see to your daily needs," Wesson said.
That was the advantage of having a House-elf.
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