What to Do When You're Short of Money! (A new day begins~~~)
Speaking of which, the wands in the wizarding world truly are peculiar.
First, they are all quasi-living beings.
Each wand carries a fragment of consciousness—not true intellect, but a kind of instinctive temperament shaped by the wood and core.
Secondly, there is the matter that many people complain about:
African witches and wizards casting spells with hand gestures, while European wandslings rely on a wooden stick.
But the comparison is flawed.
It's like foreigners claiming it's "uncivilized" to use chopsticks instead of knives and forks.
The truth?
Wandless magic and gesture-casting were never primitive.
European witches and wizards simply phased them out because they were too difficult, too draining, and required years of disciplined training.
A magically sensitive piece of wood is much easier for an eleven-year-old to use.
Even Hogwarts teaches wandless magic—just in small, controlled forms, because most students can barely manage it.
Wands also amplify power and stabilize spellcasting. They are reliable partners.
Take Owen's new wand, for example.
The moment he held it…
He could practically feel its pent-up fiery resentment.
This wand was crafted nearly fifty years ago, yet had never been chosen.
Time had worn away its freshness, but not its attitude.
If it had an inner monologue, Owen imagined it would sound like this:
> "On the first day in this box—if someone touched me, I'd blast them."
"In the first year—if anyone tried to use me, I'd make them regret it."
"In the tenth year—fine, maybe I'd cooperate… maybe."
"At twenty years—HELLO? ANYONE? OLLIVANDER!? LET ME OUT!"
"At forty—oh Merlin, someone save me!"
"At fifty—maybe I'm not a wand at all. Maybe I'm… a stone. Stones don't have thoughts, right?"
Ahem.
That was the general idea.
Of course, the real story was far messier.
Perhaps some wicked kid once slammed the lid on it mid-inspection.
Perhaps someone poked it the wrong way and the wand froze in indignation.
Maybe its pride was slowly battered into submission.
Ahem.
Which version do you prefer?
---
And then there was the Elder Wand—one of the Deathly Hallows.
Its unmatched power drove many ambitious wizards into obsession and bloodshed.
Compared to that, ordinary wandless magic naturally fell into obscurity.
Now, spellcasting gestures survive only as a minor branch of magical theory.
But—everything has two sides.
Just as the internet connects the world yet isolates it,
wands have simplified magic so much that many witches and wizards become nearly powerless without them.
"So that's how it is!" Hannah exclaimed after listening to Owen's explanation.
As a pure-blood witch raised entirely within the wizarding world, she genuinely didn't know.
Justin was even more lost.
Like Harry, he hadn't even known magic existed until two weeks ago and had been in a daze ever since.
A pure-blood like Hannah, a half-blood like Owen, and a Muggle-born like Justin—
now that was a balanced trio if there ever was one.
Two boys, one girl.
The Hufflepuff Trio!
"Professor Snape is far too harsh on the first-year Gryffindors."
Perhaps after hearing the rumor about Neville crying in his first Potions class, Hannah's opinion of Snape plummeted.
"Thank goodness we're Hufflepuffs," Justin sighed—then winced.
"Though he still manages to deduct ten points from us every week."
"If it weren't for Owen earning points everywhere, we would've ranked third in the first week of the House Cup."
"You should ask why Professor Sprout doesn't handle Slytherin the way Snape handles us," Owen said, picking up a meat-floss pastry and taking a bite.
"The Heads of House are practically letting him run wild."
"Professor Sprout?"
Even if Owen's reasoning made sense, Hannah simply couldn't picture her cheerful Herbology teacher behaving like Snape.
"Let's not think too hard about it." Justin grabbed a pastry. "We're not going to be last in the House Cup anyway."
True—unless Dumbledore handed Gryffindor last-minute points again.
With Harry Potter around, Gryffindor's House Cup future was… uncertain, to put it kindly.
This later became a common opinion among Hufflepuffs.
But—
"How can you slack off at your age!?"
Owen immediately stood up straight, indignation surging.
"If you were in Reaulcaria, you'd have been kicked around like a Quaffle already!"
He glanced at the window.
It was noon, the sun shining brilliantly.
Such precious youth—how could they waste it?
Besides, the wand-buying trip had reminded him of something.
He was running out of money.
And it was absolutely Malfoy's fault—he hadn't messed with the boy recently.
Owen's zero-cost-shopping business had stagnated.
"Let's go find Hermione—and her two lackeys. They should be in the library."
"We'll meet on the lawn outside!"
He dashed out of the Hufflepuff common room, the others scrambling behind him.
---
Meanwhile, Harry and the others—exhausted from library studies—looked up in surprise as someone stopped them.
"Owen?"
Hermione blinked, puzzled, noticing Hannah's golden hair behind him.
The little witch glanced at her own frizzy curls.
A spark of silent resentment flickered.
"Didn't he go to buy a wand? He's already back?"
"Forget that, Hermione—let's go!" Ron shot up at once.
It was unbearable.
His brain felt like mush.
He would rather face Owen than endure another second of books.
Seeing Ron dash out, Harry followed immediately.
He'd given up long ago—those books were an inch thick. Only Hermione could truly digest them.
"Wait!"
Hermione scrambled to return her books to the shelf and ran after them.
Honestly—without her, who knew what nonsense those two idiots might suffer under Owen's scheming hands?
A sense of responsibility—almost maternal—surged in her chest.
Hermione picked up her pace.