Chapter 15: Tom's Revenge
It turned out that some of Siron's instincts were pretty accurate… well, maybe "instincts" isn't exactly the right word.
During the chaos of the common room celebration, Siron had noticed the gray cat fur scattered on the staircase—and at the very top sat Tom.
If one looked closely, they could even see the dried blood on him, contrasting with his gray fur.
When Siron entered the common room, Tom appeared as well, a look of pride on his face, almost as if he were claiming credit.
Claiming credit?
A few minutes later, Siron couldn't help but twitch the corner of his mouth.
It suddenly occurred to him: could it be that last night, when Mrs. Loris blocked his way, Tom had seen it all?
It wasn't impossible.
After all, before arriving at Hogwarts, Siron had warned Tom not to mess with other people's pets… and Mrs. Loris was, in a sense, Filch's cat.
So Tom wouldn't have attacked her without reason.
And Mrs. Loris probably wouldn't have provoked Tom, who was bigger and stronger.
Moreover, even if Tom had taken offense at her, he would normally clean up all evidence immediately—just like he had tried to hide the frog before.
Siron had never doubted Tom's intelligence.
After all, the cats at Yila Owl Emporium all had a bit of wildcat blood, and Tom had stood out among them to become the "top pet" of the store—enough said.
Now, the fact that Tom dared to keep the "evidence of his crime" for an entire day and appeared openly before Siron showed that he had no fear of punishment.
With that in mind, the situation became much simpler.
"Well done."
Siron climbed the stairs and rubbed Tom's chin.
The cat leaned into his hand, purring contentedly.
"But you still can't eat your colleagues—that's non-negotiable!"
The soft touch vanished instantly. When Siron turned his head, all he saw was the tip of a black tail disappearing into the crowd of celebrating students.
"Siron."
A voice came from behind—it was Ron.
"You said you'd tell us why tonight."
"Yes, that's right," Siron said, standing up.
"What were you doing just now?" Harry asked curiously.
He thought he had seen Siron handling something, but it vanished in an instant.
"Nothing," Siron replied casually. "Weren't you curious why I switched dorms? Come with me, and you'll see."
Upon hearing that, Harry immediately dismissed his previous doubts.
The group followed Siron to the second floor.
Siron's new dorm wasn't far from his original one—in fact, it was practically next door, with less than ten feet between the doors.
Even the room's layout hadn't changed.
Of course—it wasn't really a true single dorm. Gryffindor hadn't prepared solo rooms for first-years, so this was still a five-person room, just empty because there weren't enough freshmen to fill it.
When Harry and the others entered, they all looked around the room instinctively.
Then their attention fell on the desk.
Their own dorm also had a large desk, placed centrally among the five beds, usually for backpacks, snacks, wizard's chess, or homework.
But this dorm only had Siron, so there was far less clutter.
Now, on the desk, there was just a long transparent glass tube, containing a pale yellow gel—and… a wand?
"That's not a wand—it's a half-finished one," Siron explained before they could ask.
"It's wand body infusion liquid, mixed with fifty kinds of herbs and tree oils. Non-toxic, but the smell is a bit pungent."
As he spoke, Siron took the half-finished wand out.
The liquid dripped onto the desk, releasing a faint, strange scent—bitter, earthy, sour… like fermented tomato sauce poured over a freshly cut tree root.
It was odd, to say the least.
Seamus and Ron instinctively covered their noses, but Harry remained unmoved. Having grown up in the Dursleys' cupboard, he was accustomed to unpleasant smells.
He watched Siron with genuine curiosity.
"You said that's a half-finished wand?"
"Technically, it's just the wand core," Siron said, twisting the cylindrical wood slightly—the wand split neatly down the middle.
"Already finished?" he raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"The necessary preparations," Siron said, pulling out a thin, red, slightly glowing "cord" from somewhere.
"Wait, Siron…" Neville suddenly realized what was happening. "Are you… going to make a wand right now?"
"Yes," Siron nodded. "The wand body is ready, the core is prepared—why not?"
"But… but… we're here," Neville stammered. "Can we… watch the process?"
Coming from a pure-blood family, Neville might have a poor memory, but he understood that wand-making was a closely guarded secret.
Thousands of wizards existed in Britain, but the only one who could make wands—at least the only one Neville knew—was Ollivander.
"You mean this?" Siron glanced at them—Neville, Harry, Seamus, and Ron.
"It's fine, really. No problem at all. I trust you," Siron said with a smile.
It was like a ray of sunlight piercing the dark night outside, and the four of them felt unexpectedly moved—and guilty.
They had fussed over Siron switching dorms, said harsh things, yet he trusted them, even willing to share family secrets…
Damn it—they really weren't normal people!
In fact, even before, when they smelled that strange odor, they had already understood why Siron wanted to live here.
If it happened occasionally, they could endure it. But if they had to smell it every day… they would go mad.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Seamus said first, his eyes resolute, as if he were taking on a mission.
"Ah?" Siron glanced at him. "I wasn't… well, that works too."
In truth, Siron wasn't worried at all.
If someone could learn wand-making just by watching, it would make the skill worthless.
Besides, these four… let's just say intelligence wasn't exactly their forte.
Of course, he couldn't say that aloud—it would be cruel.
Ignoring the others, Siron placed the red "cord" onto the cut surface of the wand.
One end of the cord flowed like a stream or slithered like a fish, leaving behind an irregular, glowing red trail under Siron's control.
Control?
Harry blinked in disbelief. He also noticed Siron's right hand glowing gold, marked with some kind of symbol.
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(End of Chapter)