That night and well into the early morning, Harold kept pondering the reason why the wand-making had succeeded.
He thought of many possibilities, but the most convincing one was that Ron's deep desire for a wand of his own had somehow influenced the outcome. That intense emotion might have had an effect.
And it was a very real possibility.
In the magical world, emotions were considered a kind of magic themselves—powerful and essential.
Many spells relied on emotion to work. The most famous example was the Patronus Charm, which required one to summon joyful memories and feelings.
Apparition too—it required unshakable confidence and belief in oneself. That's what people meant by "determination."
It was all emotional magic.
So if that were the case, it wouldn't be strange at all for Ron's emotions to affect the spell.
It's just... those two traits didn't really seem to suit Ron.
Poison curses—stuff like scorching flames and the Tarantallegra jinx—were troublesome, but not lethal.
Was Ron really good at those kinds of spells?
And as for Blasting Curses... that was clearly more Seamus's area of expertise. Then again, maybe it had to do with the Red Cap.
That little creature loved explosions. Honestly, even a fire salamander's tail was more stable.
Around dawn, when he was finally too tired to think anymore, Harold rubbed his forehead, changed into pajamas, and collapsed into bed.
Oh well—no matter the reason, he'd succeeded.
And based on his past experience, once a wand was successfully made, future attempts using the same core type had a much higher chance of success.
An unexpected gain—and a pretty big one.
After all, compared to unicorns or dragons, Red Caps were ridiculously cheap. When he bought a Red Cap's heart in Knockturn Alley, it was sold by the pound—five for two Sickles. They'd even toss in some toad tongues or lizard tails for free most of the time.
By rough estimate, the cost of a single Red Cap nerve core was... under twenty Knuts.
Ollivander had always believed that wand cores made from dark creatures were unstable and couldn't resonate with a wizard's magic. He thought Harold was wasting his time.
But Harold had done it!
"No way!" Harold suddenly sat up in bed.
Whatever his reason—showing off or not—he had to write to Ollivander...
Still asleep? Wake up and question your life choices!
He didn't even wait until morning. Sneaking out of the common room in the dead of night, Harold headed for the Owlery.
Oh right—on the way, he ran into the Weasley twins.
According to them, Madam Norris was still in the hospital wing, and Filch was struggling alone. A rare opportunity for nighttime wandering simply couldn't be wasted.
They even praised Harold's actions, calling him a true Gryffindor.
Talk is one thing, but calling people names? That's just rude!
After parting ways with the twins, Harold rushed to the Owlery, sent off the letter and the wand, then made his way back to the Gryffindor common room.
Just like the twins said, it really was a perfect night for a stroll—not once did he run into Filch.
But the price for that was being late the next day—late to Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class.
"Sorry, Professor. I got lost," Harold said awkwardly at the door.
"That excuse has already been used by Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, lips pursed.
"I do hope you'll come up with something more original. I hardly think a first-year student needs three different maps."
"Sorry, Professor. It won't happen again," Harold sighed.
"I expect you to keep that promise," McGonagall said. "Gryffindor loses two points. Now find a seat quickly—we're about to begin."
Harold hurried to the back row, annoyed at himself.
Because of the late-night stroll, he'd overslept—predictably.
And this was their first Transfiguration class. In other words, he had just missed Professor McGonagall's famous Animagus transformation scene!
She always started the first lesson by sitting in the classroom in her tabby cat form, then transforming back in front of the students to give them a shock-and-awe introduction to Transfiguration.
But Harold had been too late—and with two other students arriving just before him—he'd missed the whole thing.
Totally Harry and Ron's fault!
Harold silently vowed to add another Galleon to Ron's wand price.
Don't ask why. Just because—he doesn't play fair.
The lesson itself was fairly simple: basic Transfiguration—turning a matchstick into a needle.
Well, simple compared to other stuff in the textbook. For the first-years in this class, even basic Transfiguration was enough to make their heads spin.
By the end of class, only two students had managed any transformation at all.
One was Hermione, the other was Harold.
And Harold was the first to succeed, earning back the two points he lost earlier.
Though Hermione wasn't too thrilled. She was convinced Harold had practiced beforehand.
Which—of course—he had.
Most wizards got their first wand at eleven, just before starting Hogwarts. But Harold had gotten his first wand at nine. Actually, more than one.
He had worked so hard making wands precisely so he could start using magic early.
If he didn't do something with them, what would've been the point?
After Transfiguration came Defense Against the Dark Arts—but Professor Quirrell's class turned out to be a complete joke. His long, thick scarf constantly reeked of garlic.
"Smells worse than the potion you soak your wand cores in," Seamus said after class.
"Hey, that's herbs and tree oils!" Harold shot back. "Costs five Galleons per pint!"
"So expensive?" Seamus's voice shot up an octave.
His whole year's pocket money was five Galleons!
"What'd you think? Wand-making burns money," Harold said.
"Five Galleons for one wand?" Harry asked in surprise.
"Nope—enough for around a hundred."
"Still costs more than garlic though."
The group chatted as they made their way to the Great Hall.
"Oh yeah," Harry said suddenly. "Harold, why were you staring at Professor Quirrell the whole time in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Get full chapters from 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭⚫𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦⚫𝘯𝘦𝘵
"I was staring at him? Really?" Harold blinked.
"Yes. Yes, you were—we all saw it," Neville piped up softly.
While the rest of the class was doing whatever, Harold kept his eyes locked on the back of Quirrell's head. How could it not be obvious?
"I was just curious what's under that scarf," Harold said. "I mean, don't you wonder if he's really hiding a string of garlic under there?"
"Hmm… yeah, kinda," they all admitted.
"…But we don't stare at him the whole time," Harry added. "Didn't you notice? Quirrell started avoiding you halfway through the lesson."
"Did he? I'll keep that in mind next time."