Harry Potter: The Wandmaker

The train continued steadily along the tracks, though under Ron's insistence, they'd all stopped playing Exploding Snap.

Fred and George lit the last few Filibuster Fireworks before suddenly proposing another round of practice for Disarming and Stunning Spells from their one and only Dueling Club meeting.

Unfortunately, the club had only ever met once, and most students barely remembered what they'd learned. Still, with the holidays just around the corner—and magic use soon to be restricted—everyone agreed.

No one was keen on testing the Stunning Spell (no one wanted to be carried off the platform), so soon the train car was lit up with flickering flashes of red from Disarming Charms flying in every direction.

Harry was having the time of his life. For reasons beyond him, he had grown increasingly proficient with the Disarming Charm, especially against the half-baked attempts from Ron and Ginny. With a flick of his wand, he deflected their red bolts with ease.

It was a fantastic feeling.

Only when the train began to slow near King's Cross Station did Harry reluctantly stow away his wand. For the first time ever, he actually thought the train ride had gone by too fast.

As the train pulled into the station, everyone changed back into Muggle clothes. Once they arrived, they spilled out onto the platform in a crowd.

Harry quickly pulled out his quill and a scrap of parchment, scrawling three sets of numbers, and handed one each to Ron, Hermione, and Harold.

"It's called a telephone number. Promise me you'll call this summer, yeah? Two months with just Dudley to talk to—I don't think I'll survive…"

Harold, of course, had no objections.

Although there were no phones in Diagon Alley, he could easily buy one and have a magical items shopkeeper tinker with it. There had to be a way to magically connect it to the telephone network.

Truth be told, telephones were far more convenient than owls.

Unfortunately, most witches and wizards didn't know what a phone even was. They were too used to using owls—and pure-blood families especially despised Muggle inventions—so phones would likely remain rare in the wizarding world, despite how practical they were.

As they stepped off the platform, a plump witch rushed forward and threw her arms around Percy.

It was Mrs. Weasley. She hugged everyone in turn, including Harold.

She still remembered him from Flourish and Blotts last August, when he had defended the Grangers against Lucius Malfoy's sneering insults. That incident had counted as fighting side by side, in her eyes.

To Harold's surprise, his grandfather, Garrick Ollivander, was also waiting, standing just beyond the crowd with a warm smile.

"Surprised to see me?" he asked.

"A bit," Harold admitted. "I wrote you loads of letters and you never answered—I thought you were still out looking for that legendary rowan grove."

At the start of the school year, Garrick and Gregorovitch had set out together to find a mythical grove of rowan trees that only appeared under the northern lights.

Harold had written often over the year, but never received a reply, assuming his grandfather was still lost deep in Norway's magical forests.

Spending a year chasing after ideal wand wood wasn't unusual for wandmakers. Garrick had once spent a full year in Germany's Black Forest, only returning days before Hogwarts acceptance letters were sent out.

But Harold had been only three years old at the time and hadn't yet visited Diagon Alley.

"You need patience to find a rowan grove," Garrick said. "It's not something to rush."

"So you and Gregorovitch spent a whole year and found… nothing?" Harold asked skeptically.

"We found it… sort of."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we saw it, but couldn't find the way in." Garrick sighed, his expression tinged with disappointment.

Harold didn't press further.

After bidding Harry and the others goodbye, Garrick led Harold away from the station.

They found a quiet alleyway, where a middle-aged man sat near the entrance reading a newspaper. When he saw Garrick and Harold approaching, he gave a small nod.

This was a Ministry-designated Apparition point. The man was a Ministry employee, stationed there to ensure no wizards Apparated in view of Muggles.

Once cleared, Garrick placed a hand on Harold's shoulder, and the two vanished with a crack.

A moment later, they reappeared in the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron.

Garrick tapped the right brick with his wand, opening the way into Diagon Alley, and Harold followed.

Since Hogwarts had just let out, the alley wasn't too crowded—only about seven or eight witches and wizards wandered the street. In a few days, though, things would liven up.

That was when most students would be home for the holidays, and many Muggle-borns would bring their parents to explore Diagon Alley and shop for magical trinkets with weaker secrecy restrictions.

Things like magical toothpaste, hair growth tonic, or bizarre novelty potions.

Some clever older students would even rent rooms at the Leaky Cauldron just so they could freely use magic during the summer. After all, the Ministry tracked underage magic through the Trace, which only indicated where the spell was cast—not who did it. With enough adult wizards around, it was almost impossible to pinpoint the culprit.

And there was no place in Britain with more witches and wizards than Diagon Alley.

"You've made quite a splash," Garrick said as they entered Ollivanders. "Saw all the headlines. Another eventful year at Hogwarts, I see."

The word "another" was telling. Last year had been plenty eventful too.

"Yeah, lots happened," Harold admitted. "The basilisk, the Chamber of Secrets, a fraud of a professor… oh, and a fifty-year-old Horcrux."

"So the basilisk was real?" Garrick's eyes widened. "A thousand-year-old creature… what I wouldn't give to see it. Creatures that ancient—might make remarkable wand cores."

"That can be arranged." Harold held out what looked like a curved dagger.

A basilisk fang—the longest one.

Garrick nearly dropped it in shock. He had only been joking, but Harold had just… produced one from his pocket?

"Don't tell me Dumbledore divided the basilisk and gave out parts!" he blurted. "You got the fang?"

"No, he gave it to me," Harold said casually.

From a certain point of view, that wasn't a lie.

"Dumbledore gave a student a basilisk fang?" Garrick echoed, still stunned. But his hands worked automatically, accepting the fang and examining it closely.

"A fearsome weapon… the magical signature is volatile. More violent than dragon heartstring—oh, this is tricky…" He trailed off and looked up. "Wait… you're not thinking of using this as a wand core, are you?"

"I was considering it," Harold replied. "I thought it might pair well with that piece of serpentwood."

"I'd advise against it," Garrick warned. "Serpentwood works better with purer magical elements. The basilisk fang is all bite and venom. Not ideal."

"Purer magical elements…" Harold mused. "Oh, I've got one of those too!"

…

(End of Chapter)