That day, people in Diagon Alley noticed that Ollivanders Wand Shop had suddenly closed. But unlike the usual simple "Closed" sign, this time, all the shop's windows and doors were covered with thick curtains—completely blocking any view inside.
It was highly unusual. Garrick Ollivander had never drawn the curtains before. Still, few passing witches or wizards noticed anything odd. After all, under normal circumstances, who would stop to inspect a wand shop?
Inside the shop, Harold had already placed his Transfigured Lizard Skin pouch on the table. With one hand, he reached inside and pulled out something that looked like a faintly glowing yellow gemstone.
It was the basilisk's eye—gleaming like yellow citrine. One hand held the eye, while the other casually waved his wand, catching a Doxie that had been clinging to the curtain.
Doxies were common magical pests, with four wings and bodies covered in coarse black hair. They had venomous bites and loved to nip at people. If one didn't take the antidote quickly, the bitten skin would itch and burn terribly.
They typically showed up in houses left unoccupied by witches or wizards for long periods.
Since Harold had been at Hogwarts and Garrick in Norway, the wand shop had become a haven for such pests.
Normally, Garrick would clear them out as soon as he returned. But this time, he'd been in a rush to meet Harold at King's Cross and hadn't had the chance.
Which, as it turned out, was just fine.
Harold opened a finger gap and moved the doxie closer to the basilisk's eye.
The lively little creature instantly went still.
Harold pressed his lips together in surprise. Even with the basilisk long dead, its eye's curse still lingered. Good thing he'd kept it sealed inside the pouch and never taken it out until now. Check latest chapters at 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝔫𝔢𝔱
He then caught two more doxies from under the carpet. Holding them at different angles, he brought each near the eye.
One died instantly, like the first. But the one closer to his palm kept fluttering and even tried to bite him.
Apparently, the curse only activated when the target met the basilisk's direct gaze—specifically aligned with the pupil.
That was good news, at least. It meant he didn't have to keep it fully wrapped in cloth.
Harold walked around the shop, waving the eye under the curtains and carpets. Using the doxies' reactions as a guide, he quickly pinpointed the direction of the gaze and covered it precisely with his palm.
Every area swept by the basilisk's gaze became completely pest-free. The effect was astonishing—better than any cleaning spell cast by a house-elf.
Garrick Ollivander stood nearby, utterly stunned.
He had been crafting wands for nearly seventy years.
In that time, he'd worked with all sorts of magical creatures—from the gentle unicorn to the savage Hungarian Horntail, and even the mysterious Zouwu.
He was also good friends with Newt Scamander, the famous Magizoologist, and his knowledge of magical creatures far surpassed that of most witches and wizards.
Which was exactly why he looked so shell-shocked.
That was a basilisk's eye—a vessel for one of the most fearsome curses known to wizardkind. Among dark wizards, it was a legendary artifact, as famed as the Elder Wand or Resurrection Stone.
And Harold was… using it to kill bugs?
Also—when had Dumbledore gotten so generous? He'd actually just given Harold a basilisk's eye?
"Would this work with serpentwood?" Garrick's wandering thoughts were interrupted by Harold's question.
"I mean, could the basilisk's eye be paired with serpentwood?"
"It should be fine." Mention of wandcraft snapped Garrick back to focus. He fell into thoughtful silence.
"Wait a moment," he said, and walked to the very back of the shop, opening a hidden door behind a shelf.
Behind that inconspicuous door lay a space larger than the shop itself: rows of bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling, filled with ancient books and scrolls—the Ollivander family's most precious legacy.
Garrick moved briskly through the stacks, pausing here and there to pull out a book, flip through it, and mutter under his breath.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
"Some people have no manners! I was asleep!"
Complaints rang out from all around him—clearly, these books were not like those in Flourish and Blotts.
Garrick, used to their fussing, apologized as he browsed.
"You idiot! You're the worst great-grandson I've ever had. You can't even remember something this simple!"
"But you only have one great-grandson," Garrick replied helplessly.
"Exactly! And you're still the worst I've ever seen—"
Smack! Garrick shut the book hard, silencing the voice.
He instinctively glanced toward where Harold was standing.
Harold quickly turned away, pretending not to have heard a thing and crouching down to inspect a wooden stand with intense curiosity.
What an impressive stand...
Ten minutes later, Garrick emerged holding a book. He looked at Harold and said quietly, "I still don't recommend using the basilisk. It's far too dangerous."
"I'll be careful," Harold replied.
"Of course you won't listen," Garrick muttered. "Just like I didn't listen to your great-grandmother when I insisted on going to Austria—ugh, forget it. That's ancient history."
He handed Harold the book.
It was about an inch thick, its cover faded, the title barely visible.
"If you want to pair the basilisk's eye with serpentwood, there shouldn't be a problem," Garrick continued. "Serpentwood is only compatible with very pure magical cores—like the horn of a Runespoor. Gregorovitch favored that, though I find it too temperamental. Phoenix feather is—oh, right, we're not talking about that."
He steered himself back on topic.
"The basilisk's eye contains one of the deadliest curses in existence. But a curse is still a form of magic—highly concentrated magic. That makes it suitable for serpentwood."
"Perfect." Harold was relieved. He hugged the book to his chest and turned to head upstairs.
"Wait." Garrick called after him. "Are you sure you don't want my help?"
He didn't object to the idea in principle, but he was worried about Harold tinkering with something that dangerous on his own.
"Relax. I faced a real basilisk and came out fine. What's one little eyeball?" Harold replied offhandedly, and dashed upstairs.
Leaving Garrick staring after him, completely bewildered.
What did he mean, faced a real basilisk?
Wait a second… the newspaper had mentioned a student who helped Rubeus Hagrid kill the basilisk.
Could that student… have been Harold?