Whether Harry truly had an interest in Divination remained to be seen, but thanks to Harold's words, he made clear progress during his fourth Patronus lesson with Professor Lupin.
His Patronus now had a visible outline, nearly identical to Harold's first attempt.
"Excellent, absolutely excellent," Professor Lupin said with satisfaction, even rewarding Harry with a bottle of butterbeer.
Harry was thrilled. For the first time, he had successfully driven the Boggart away. It was a moment worth celebrating.
And the surprises weren't over yet.
At the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, he ran into Professor McGonagall—who happened to be holding the Firebolt.
"We've run every test we could think of and found nothing suspicious," Professor McGonagall explained. "Also, Harold told us it came directly from the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop. We wrote to confirm, and the staff said the same."
Harry's eyes lit up. His jaw dropped.
"Professor, do you mean—I can take it now?"
"Yes. It's yours," McGonagall said with a smile as she handed the Firebolt back. "Mr. Potter, you've got a very good friend somewhere."
Harry didn't hear a word she said. His attention was locked on the broom.
When he returned to the common room, he instantly became the center of attention.
Students crowded around him, eager to see the broom with their own eyes.
"Where'd you get it, Harry?"
"Ravenclaw's done for…"
The Firebolt was passed around carefully, admired from every angle.
Only Harold and Hermione didn't join the crowd.
Hermione was buried in homework, hidden behind towering stacks of books.
Harold simply didn't care.
So what if the Firebolt was the fastest broom in the world? When it came to safety, it didn't compare to his own. Only die-hard Quidditch fanatics would be this excited.
Harold returned to the dormitory.
About an hour later, the common room was still buzzing with talk of Harry's Firebolt. Faces were lit with excitement.
To many, Harry was the best Seeker in Hogwarts. Now that he had the best broom, the Quidditch Cup felt almost guaranteed. Victory for Gryffindor was all but assured!
But just then, a strange chill settled over the common room.
On nearby tables, drinks that hadn't been touched suddenly frosted over. Thin sheets of ice formed on their surfaces, and condensation drew white streaks across the glass like breath.
Everyone shivered involuntarily.
"What's going on? Did the fire go out?" Ron asked, glancing toward the fireplace.
The flames had died down a bit, but they still burned. As he looked, the fire roared back to life with a soft whoosh.
"Who opened a window?" Dean Thomas ran over and closed one that had been left ajar.
With that, everyone relaxed.
It was probably just a draft. After all, it was still January—cold winds were nothing unusual.
As for the frozen drinks, the fire soon thawed them back to normal. Thɪs chapter is updated by novel[f]ire.net
Meanwhile, upstairs in Harold's dormitory…
Thanks to the unicorn, the once-imposing Dementor had been reduced to a pile of fine, black dust.
Harold had already determined: Dementors were unsuitable as wand cores.
He'd encountered other unusable materials before, like Basilisk eyes—but those were different.
Basilisk eyes could "kill" the wand's magic. Dementor remains, on the other hand, held no magic at all.
They were more like a cluster of darkness and negative energy. Similar to magic, but fundamentally distinct.
Even more importantly, a wizard's own magical power naturally repelled this energy. That's likely why most wizards instinctively loathed Dementors at first sight.
However, Harold discovered something else.
While a Dementor couldn't be used as a wand core, the ashes left behind after its destruction were extremely useful.
By having the unicorn purify the lingering negative energy, then mixing the remains with dew, resin, and burning it together with pine needles, Harold could create a fine ash.
This ash, dissolved into a potion, made for the best wand-maintenance solution he had ever seen. It significantly enhanced a wand's responsiveness to magical intent.
Two wands—one normal, one treated with the solution—were hit with the Disarming Charm.
The untreated wand flew straight into Harold's hand.
The treated one? It didn't even make it halfway before falling to the floor.
The charm's effect had been weakened—or rather, the wand's resistance had been strengthened.
While the difference was subtle in his dormitory (only a few feet of space), in real duels, that margin could mean everything.
A weaker Disarming Charm might not be able to pry the wand away at all—just grip tight enough, and it would stay in hand.
And in defending against spells, it would be far more effective.
Harold had watched real wizard duels when he was younger—not the classroom kind, but the serious, silent sort. Wizards rarely spoke during those. They preferred to flick spells away with their wands like fencing parries.
If the wand's natural power was high enough, the wizard would conserve much more of their own magic.
Unfortunately, a single Dementor only left behind a tiny pinch of ash—not even enough to fill a thimble.
He had to ration it carefully.
Still, that might be part of why Harold didn't fear Dementors.
Who's afraid of Galleons?
If Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them ever claimed Dementor dust could cure baldness, the Ministry would pass a Dementor Protection Act within the month.
In reality, it was already getting close to that point.
There wasn't a law yet, but with one Dementor missing, the Ministry practically stationed someone to keep watch over the rest. Harold suspected they'd assign ID numbers to each one and make them report in daily if they could.
"Alright… time to make a few batches," Harold muttered, eyeing the wand shafts soaking in a pale purple solution.
He planned to ship some samples back to Diagon Alley for Garrick to review—maybe Garrick could find a substitute ingredient.
But the real formula would remain secret for now.
Harold didn't know whether someone as old-school as Garrick Ollivander could accept such an unorthodox material.