In the days that followed, news that Harry had officially joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team spread through Hogwarts like wildfire.
On top of being the Boy Who Lived, he now had another title—the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history.
That Friday afternoon, Oliver Wood took Harry to the pitch for their first training session.
The results were kept hush-hush, but that night, Gryffindor's common room exploded into celebration that went well past midnight.
As a fellow Gryffindor, Harold joined in the festivities—and even used the opportunity to slip into the broom shed and stash a slightly "modified" broomstick way in the back.
Technically, it wasn't broken. He'd just replaced the handle. Still perfectly safe to fly… probably.
With the hundred-year-old fir wood handle he'd swapped out—and his last strand of Professor McGonagall's hair—Harold had crafted his second wand.
[Fir, Witch's Hair, Thirteen Inches]
[Trait: Transfiguration +17 (55)%]
Just as Harold expected, this wand didn't have [Camouflage] like the last one, but its transfiguration bonus was significantly higher—both in base and potential.
Hard to say which was better. Bonuses got harder to improve the higher they went, and 55% was the highest he'd ever seen.
He gave it a test run, transforming an ink bottle on his desk into an elegant teapot.
The spell went off without a hitch. It felt as easy as turning a matchstick into a needle—except the teapot had ornate patterns and details all over.
Harold decided he'd give it to Professor McGonagall as a Christmas gift.
A handcrafted, custom wand? He might even get a decent return gift—though that wasn't the point, of course. It just happened to work out.
He pulled out a sheet of golden cardstock from his trunk and quickly folded it into a long rectangular box. A layer of black velvet went inside, followed by the wand.
A handmade, vintage-style wand case. Cost him only two Knuts, but the market price was five Sickles.
It's the thought that counts.
With that done, Harold turned his focus to his true goal—preparing for Halloween.
As the day approached, the castle became steeped in holiday atmosphere. Even the farthest corridors carried the warm, sweet scent of roasted pumpkin.
The first class of the day was Charms—a notoriously tough time slot right before a grand feast. Fortunately, Professor Flitwick seemed aware of this.
Instead of the usual boring fundamentals, he finally introduced a spell everyone had been looking forward to: the Levitation Charm.
Especially when Flitwick himself waved his wand and made Neville's toad go soaring across the classroom. It perfectly fulfilled every Muggle-born's fantasy of what wizarding school should be, and everyone was hyped to learn it.
Excitement aside, the spell wasn't easy.
Compared to the previous lessons, this was like jumping from single-digit arithmetic to long division.
After thoroughly drilling the incantation and wrist movement, Professor Flitwick split the class into pairs to practice.
Harry partnered with Seamus due to seating arrangements. Ron, seated near Neville, ended up reluctantly teaming with him and looked nervous—as if Neville's toad might not be the only thing launched skyward.
Harold, being near the back, was paired with Hermione.
To be honest, he hesitated.
From what he remembered, a major turning point in the trio's friendship stemmed from a spat between Ron and Hermione during Charms class. But now that Ron had been paired with Neville instead, who knew if Harry would ever find his "brains"?
"Harold, what are you thinking about?" Hermione's voice pulled him back.
"Ah, nothing," Harold replied, brushing off the thought.
Forget it. Dumbledore would probably sort it out anyway.
He flicked his wrist with practiced ease. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Compared to his awkward attempt on the train, his spellwork was flawless this time.
The feather in front of him rose smoothly into the air, hovering a good five feet above his head.
"Oh, excellent work!" Professor Flitwick clapped. "Everyone, look—Mr. Ollivander has succeeded! Two points to Gryffindor!"
Hermione's expression darkened slightly. She knew the spell too—just happened to be a second too slow.
Still, it was all for Gryffindor, so she got over it quickly.
But then another problem presented itself: the class had just started, and both of them already mastered the spell. What now?
Hermione decided to lend a hand.
Her first target was Neville, who had nearly poked Ron in the face with his wand while nervously over-swinging his arm.
Now they were standing three students apart. Practicing together was out of the question.
"Wrist lighter—don't swing like you're hammering nails. Break the word in two: Wingardium—Leviosa. Clear and drawn out…"
Hermione coached him tirelessly for half the lesson, but Neville's feather didn't budge an inch.
"I've said it before—his wand's the real problem," Harold muttered from nearby. "Spells and movement are minor details in comparison…"
"Oh really? If you're so great, why don't you try?" Hermione snapped, turning to glare at him.
"Sure. Seven Galleons," Harold replied with a grin. "Can't guarantee instant results, but definitely better than this."
"You're seriously pitching a wand right now?" Hermione gaped at him.
Neville… lowered his head and pretended not to hear.
The truth was, deep down, he had no intention of replacing his wand. If he'd really wanted to, he'd have done it already.
His grandmother might've pushed him to inherit Frank Longbottom's wand, but if Neville insisted on a new one, she'd have agreed.
The Longbottoms might have fallen on hard times, but they could still afford a wand.
Harold just smiled and said nothing. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹✶𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲✶𝗻𝗲𝘁
This wasn't his problem. He'd done his part—twice. No way he'd keep nagging.
In the end, it was up to Neville. Even if Harold offered a wand for free, Neville probably wouldn't use it.
Not that he'd actually offer one for free, of course.
Seven Galleons was already a loss. Without Ministry subsidies, he was already eating the cost. Giving it away? Yeah, no.