For a wand, the choice of core is crucial—and Harold was starting to realize he may have chosen the wrong one.
The troll spine he'd painstakingly transformed into a wand core was not only incredibly tough, it was also infuriatingly slow to respond to magic. It had inherited every one of a troll's worst traits. Embedding it into the wand shaft had been a nightmare, a task so slow and laborious it made Harold question every life decision that brought him here.
Originally, he'd expected to finish the wand in two days—plenty of time left over to tackle the stack of holiday homework waiting on his desk.
But now? He'd thrown the entire winter holiday into this thing. And to avoid falling behind once classes resumed, he'd resorted to sleeping just two hours a night, eating one meal a day, and downing peppery vials of Pepper-Up Potion from Madam Pomfrey anytime he thought he might pass out.
Even then, the wand core didn't fully bond with the shaft until the very early hours of the first day of term.
At exactly 1 a.m., the separated wand shaft snapped together with the embedded core—seamless, complete.
And then all hell broke loose.
The wand launched itself off the table, spinning and thrumming so violently it sounded like fireworks going off in the room.
Harold staggered backward, half-expecting it to explode.
Then a more terrifying realization hit him: it was one in the morning.
That meant everyone was asleep.
The sound woke up the entire tower.
Angry voices and footsteps thundered down the hallway. Doors banged open. Someone pounded on Harold's door, yelling for him to cut the noise.
But what was he supposed to do?
He opened the door and gestured helplessly to the chaos inside.
Nobody dared come closer. They all took an involuntary step backward.
The thing inside looked nothing like a wand anymore—it looked like a two-foot-long club, spinning so fast it had already shredded Harold's desk into splinters. His bed and bookcase had met similar fates. Bits of furniture littered the floor like confetti.
Someone in the crowd swallowed loudly. Another step back.
Harold was right there with them. He wanted nothing to do with that wand right now.
Professor McGonagall arrived.
She was in her dressing gown, clearly just woken up—and clearly furious.
"What on earth is going on here?" she demanded. "Do you intend to wake the entire castle?!"
Everyone pointed at Harold.
McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Ollivander. What exactly have you done?"
Harold didn't bother explaining. He just motioned for her to follow him inside.
She stepped through the door, caught sight of the spinning wand… and fell into stunned silence.
"That's… the wand?" she asked, pointing at what looked more like a possessed beater's bat. "You're saying that's not a bludger club?"
"No, it's a wand. I just finished it."
McGonagall stared, blinking slowly. "It's not… a weapon?"
She looked like she wanted to argue—but instead, she turned back to the crowd in the hallway.
"Back to bed, all of you!" she snapped.
Grumbling, the students returned to their rooms—some not-so-subtly leaving their doors open to keep watching.
With a wave of her wand, McGonagall silenced the corridor around Harold's room. The castle went quiet once more.
She turned back to him. "Can you make it stop?"
With her beside him, Harold found a little courage. He edged back into the room, muttering an incantation under his breath and stretching a hand toward the wand.
Perhaps it had tired itself out, because after a few more frantic spins, the wand abruptly dropped to the floor.
Right before Harold could catch it. It was too heavy.
McGonagall flinched. Her eyes twitched at the sight of the oversized wand thudding like a log on the stone floor.
"That's… really your wand?" she asked, voice tight.
She inhaled deeply and said, "Due to your recklessness, Gryffindor will lose twenty points. And you are to restore this room immediately."
And with that, she spun on her heel and left.
As she marched away, McGonagall passed through the common room, barely glancing at the time—it was nearly two in the morning. She sincerely hoped the headmaster was still awake.
She needed to confirm whether this—any of this—was even remotely normal.
Back in the hallway, Fred and George sneaked over the moment she was out of sight. They took one look at Harold's room and sucked in a breath.
"Looks like a Niffler ransacked Gringotts," Fred said.
"Give the poor Niffler some credit," George replied. "Even they aren't this violent. What did you do?"
"I don't even know where to start," Harold groaned, pointing his wand at the pile of splinters. "Reparo!"
A bed reassembled itself.
"…That was a bed?" Fred blinked.
"You guys just going to stare, or are you going to help?" Harold said, already aiming at the next ruined object.
"Fine," the twins shrugged and got to work.
Together, the three boys had the room back to normal in under half an hour.
As they left, Fred clapped Harold on the back. "You'll want to start thinking of excuses."
"Especially for explaining to the headmaster how you blew up your dorm," George added.
They chuckled and disappeared down the hall, shooing away any lingering onlookers.
Finally alone, Harold knelt beside the wand on the floor, cautiously picked it up… and saw the stats materialize.
Oak, Troll Spine Core, 30.5 inches
• Recoil – Spells may reflect back onto the caster. (Trolls are notoriously clumsy.)
• Blunt – Records the first spell cast. Thereafter, all spells will default to that one, regardless of incantation or wand movement. (A troll's brain can only hold one idea. So can its spine.)
• Protego – Defensive spells are 30% more effective. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵⁂𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⁂𝓷𝓮𝓽
"…Fantastic," Harold muttered.