After discovering the unique properties of Dementor dust, Harold immediately thought of a potential client… Professor Flitwick.
Every professor at Hogwarts had their own hobbies—Professor McGonagall liked Quidditch, Professor Sprout enjoyed tending magical plants, Snape… well, Snape liked Lily—and Professor Flitwick loved dueling.
And when it came to dueling, a good wand was indispensable. In fact, Harold had seen Professor Flitwick several times even before he was old enough to attend Hogwarts—sometimes at the wand shop, sometimes elsewhere.
Back during his first year's Sorting Ceremony, Flitwick had been visibly disappointed when Harold wasn't placed in Ravenclaw.
That same year, Harold crafted a special wand using a strand of Professor McGonagall's hair as the core—Flitwick had coveted it ever since.
But restrained by his pride as an adult wizard and his status as a professor, he had never approached Harold about it.
Fortunately, Harold could be the one to make the approach.
So, during a Charms lesson, while they were practicing, Harold deliberately asked Harry to cast a Disarming Charm at him…
His wand flew from his hand and clattered to the floor between them.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Ollivander, this is a classroom, not the Dueling Club. And today's topic is not the Disarming Charm. Two points from Gryffindor," Professor Flitwick said sternly as he walked over. But his gaze fell immediately and involuntarily to the wand lying on the floor.
He frowned. After being hit with a Disarming Charm, a wand should fly straight into the caster's hand. Why had it dropped midway?
Harry's spell failed?
No—it hadn't.
Flitwick had clearly seen the charm. The red flash had been strong and precise. If he had been the target, even he would've lost his wand.
So what was going on with that wand?
He looked back at the wand, but Harold had already scooped it up. Flitwick suppressed his curiosity for the time being.
Until the end of class—just as he was leaving the room, he happened to overhear Harold and Harry talking.
"What do you think of my new wand?" Harold asked, voice just loud enough for Flitwick to hear from the door. "Told you it could resist your Disarming Charm."
"How did you do that?" Harry asked, astonished.
A wand that could resist a Disarming Charm… it felt like a personal attack—especially since that was Harry's signature move.
"Secret," Harold replied smugly. "It's my latest design. It won't hit the market for a few years. Consider this an early preview."
The two walked off, but Flitwick had already caught the keywords.
A wand that could resist a Disarming Charm… a new wand-making technique…
He turned around.
"Mr. Ollivander."
"Hello, Professor Flitwick," Harold paused. "Is something the matter?"
"Well," Flitwick began, "I couldn't help but notice… your wand seems quite special."
He didn't directly admit to eavesdropping but framed it in a way befitting his role as professor.
Harold hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes. I discovered a special material that increases a wand's resistance to spells."
"If I may—would you be willing to show me the wand?" Flitwick asked. "As Head of Ravenclaw, I give you my word I won't share your secret."
"I believe you, Professor," Harold replied. "Here?"
"Let's go to my office."
The two of them headed to Flitwick's office on the third floor. Harry, unsure what else to do, tagged along.
He was, after all, avoiding Ron and Hermione—who were in the middle of another fight.
Ron's rat, Scabbers, was looking worse by the day—skinny, sickly, and now shedding fur in clumps. Ron blamed Hermione's cat, Crookshanks. Hermione said Ron was being ridiculous.
To be honest, Harry sided with Hermione this time.
Sure, the ginger cat was clearly hostile toward Scabbers—but wasn't that normal? Cats chase mice.
Besides, Crookshanks rarely even stayed in the castle. It spent most of its time roaming the grounds, often with Harold's pet, near the Forbidden Forest. Harry had spotted them more than once during Care of Magical Creatures.
So Ron's accusation didn't hold up—Scabbers and Crookshanks probably hadn't even seen each other in days.
But Harry was tired of being stuck between the two, so tagging along with Harold seemed the perfect excuse.
Flitwick's office was about the same size as the others', but everything inside was scaled down to half-size, making the place feel extra spacious.
"Mr. Potter," Flitwick turned to Harry, "Would you mind casting a Disarming Charm on me?"
"Here?" Harry asked.
"Yes, right here," Flitwick nodded.
Harry hesitated, until Harold leaned in and whispered, "He's a Head of House—like Snape. You can…"
"Expelliarmus!"
Before Harold could finish, Harry had already raised his wand. A red flash burst forth.
Harry expected the same outcome as in class—that Flitwick's wand would fly into the air or hit the floor.
Instead, Flitwick casually flicked his wrist—without even saying a spell—and the red light shattered midair.
"Oh my!" Flitwick's eyes widened in astonishment.
That feeling—how to describe it? Like slicing into a fresh, juicy steak with a brand-new silver knife. Utterly satisfying.
"Mr. Ollivander," Flitwick said, "Could your previous wands do this?"
"Not yet," Harold admitted. "This effect only works if the wand is infused with the new material before the runes are carved. Existing wands can't be modified."
Flitwick looked a little disappointed—but only a little. He had expected as much. He turned back to Harry.
"Again, please, Mr. Potter."
Harry sighed, raising his wand once more.
…
(End of Chapter)