Although Harold didn't need a new wand, there were still plenty of other things to buy.
He'd been living in Diagon Alley since he was six. Now at eleven, nearly every shopkeeper in the area knew him by name. He didn't even need to open his acceptance letter. A simple stroll around the alley was enough for him to know exactly what he needed.
"Harold! I knew you'd be coming—your new books are all right here, pre-wrapped!"
"Thank you, Madam Blott. So how much do I owe you…"
"Two Galleons altogether. How's that for a discount?"
"Impossible to refuse," Harold said sincerely.
Eight books for two Galleons—Madam Blott at Flourish and Blotts had likely charged him no more than cost price.
That kind of treatment had nothing to do with Harold himself. It was probably all thanks to Ollivander.
A favor returned for the new wand discount?
Harold went on to purchase a full set of pewter cauldrons, a brass telescope, a standard potions ingredient kit, and three plain sets of robes—gloves, cloak, and all. Every item came with a discount no regular student could hope to get. He saved quite a bit.
The herbology shop owner even gave him nearly one and a half times the standard portion of ingredients.
They weren't worth much, but the thought counted. Harold accepted everything with a warm smile.
All went smoothly—except for Eeylops Owl Emporium.
Harold couldn't figure out why the owner, Madam Theodore, was being so overly enthusiastic. She insisted on giving him a free owl as a "gift" for starting school.
And owls weren't cheap. Even the most basic breeds cost ten Galleons, and the better ones could easily be double that. Naturally, Harold refused.
He stared at the woman across from him—she looked nearly sixty—scratching his head in confusion.
Truthfully, he wasn't close to Madam Theodore at all. He'd barely seen her a handful of times. Why was she being so generous?
Out of caution, Harold declined the extravagant gift. But she was so insistent that in the end, he reluctantly picked a different pet.
A tabby cat… probably.
It looked like a tabby, but the coloring was dull and patchy—a bit grayish overall.
Harold had spotted it curled in a corner with a squashed-faced ginger longhair. No one was interested in either, even though they were dirt cheap.
One Galleon—only five Sickles more than the cheapest rats, and even less than most toads.
That was exactly why Harold picked it.
At that price, he could accept the cat without guilt. As for why he didn't choose the ginger one… well, he didn't have a thing for crushed soda cans, especially the flattened kind.
Even after Madam Theodore tried to talk him into swapping for a prettier, purebred cat with a better temperament—at the same price—Harold stuck to his choice.
Until he figured out her true intentions, he wasn't about to accept such a generous offer.
Truthfully, he even wanted to pay for the cat, but Madam Theodore wouldn't take the money, saying Harold had done her a huge favor.
"That cat's too fierce. You'd better be careful at school—it might end up eating someone's rat or toad."
Harold eyed the tabby now lazily sprawled across his arm and took her warning with a grain of salt.
Still, even if it was a bit vicious, that was fine by him. Once school started, he wouldn't have the time or energy to pamper a pet. A little wildness might help it fend for itself.
An hour later, Harold pushed open the door of the wand shop, his arms full of supplies.
He planned to give a few of the more generous shopkeepers a wand-care kit as a thank-you gift—along with a sheet of custom wand stickers.
The stickers were something he'd made last year, inspired by Chocolate Frog cards. They moved, but didn't randomly vanish.
Plenty of people didn't mind paying a single Sickle to stick a tiny Dumbledore onto their wand.
Ollivander, however, had always thought the things were a scam. He allowed Harold to stock them in the shop, but never advertised them. As a result, few people even knew they existed, and sales were… modest.
Then there was the color-changing spray. You could tint your wand any shade you liked. But Ollivander had completely forbidden Harold from selling that in the shop. Harold had no choice but to lock it in a chest.
This time, though, he planned to bring it to school—see if he could find a new market.
Deep down, Harold understood why Ollivander was against it. A wand needed to be discreet—especially for Aurors and others in dangerous work. Matching the color of wood was ideal camouflage.
Just imagine someone drawing a bright red wand during a stealth mission—it'd be like casting a Lumos on their face.
But at Hogwarts? Totally fine. No students needed to sneak around and duel in the dark.
Besides, teenagers loved being different. Who could resist dyeing their wand a bold new color?
Thinking this over, Harold opened a small pouch. Inside were about thirty Galleons and a few Sickles.
That was all his spending money so far.
For someone his age, that wasn't bad. Most first-years had maybe seven or eight Galleons to last the whole school year.
But Harold had a lot of expenses. He made wands. Wand cores cost money. So did special wood for wand shafts.
And once he was at school, he wouldn't be able to dip into the family stash whenever he wanted. Anything he needed, he'd have to buy himself.
Thinking that, thirty Galleons started to seem… insufficient.
Maybe he'd make the red and gold sprays "rare" editions and double the price. Green and silver could go triple…
Harold made a mental note.
Purely a business decision. He totally wasn't targeting anyone.
After getting their first glimpse of the magical world, some Muggle-born kids found it hard to leave. They came to Diagon Alley almost every day.
Some didn't even bother learning how to tap the right brick to enter—they just booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Old Tom had prepared plenty of rooms in advance and made a tidy profit.
By August, Diagon Alley was buzzing. Every shop was packed wall-to-wall with people—except the wand shop.
Wands weren't consumables. Aside from the annual wave of first-years, repeat customers were almost unheard of.
Which suited Harold just fine. He spent the calm before school rummaging through the storeroom.
It was packed with high-quality wand wood that Ollivander had spent decades gathering from across the world. Every single piece was premium.
Ollivander had been reluctant to let him touch it before. But now that Harold had received his Hogwarts letter, the old man had finally loosened up.
To Harold, it was like falling into a vault full of Niffler bait. His eyes practically glowed.
Applewood soaked in pine resin for a full year? Yes, please.
Ironwood—hard to work with, but rare? Mine.
Sycamore? Excellent with phoenix feathers—perfect. Hogwarts had a phoenix, after all. Taken.
Vinewood? Meh, but why not. Not taking it would be a waste…
As he approached the back, Harold suddenly froze, eyes locked on a reddish-brown branch sitting on a shelf.
Merlin above. Was that… the main trunk of a 1,300-year-old dragonblood tree?
His dear grandfather had been hiding something this good?! ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡⁂𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚⁂𝙣𝙚𝙩
Behind him, Ollivander's face went pale. He rushed forward to stop him.
Dragonblood trees were common enough—Romania had plenty. But one that had lived for over thirteen centuries? Rare didn't even begin to cover it.
Because of its sulfuric scent and tough texture, dragons loved chewing on the stuff. It was basically a chew toy for fire-breathers.
A branch that had survived over a thousand years of dragon gnawing and still stayed intact? Practically a miracle. Ollivander had only ever found one—this piece.
But young people react fast. Before he could say a word, Harold had already snatched the branch and stuffed it into his robe.
Giving it back? Not a chance. A man of honor doesn't go back on his word. That would be the act of a Dark wizard.
Was Ollivander a Dark wizard?
And Harold wasn't about to let his dear grandfather become a man who broke his promises.
The poor first-years who came in for wands after that were met with… quite a sight.
They'd walk in, excited to buy their very first wand—only to be greeted by a grumpy, disheveled old man muttering under his breath with a stony expression.
Some of the more timid kids nearly burst into tears. A few didn't even want to buy a wand anymore.
Ollivander had truly done a number on them. Let's just hope the trauma didn't scar their young minds too badly.