Although the idea in Harold's mind was getting stronger by the day, he didn't immediately make a move on the Whomping Willow. He only glanced at it from a distance a few times, then followed Neville and Seamus back to the castle.
After that, he behaved. Went to class. Did homework. Tried to make up for the points he'd lost.
It hadn't been long since his out-of-control wand nearly took apart the dormitory. Neither Professor McGonagall nor Dumbledore had completely taken their eyes off him yet.
If he did anything out of the ordinary now, he'd get caught for sure.
And he wasn't sure the professors would be so lenient a second time.
After all, professors had limits too. They might've forgiven him once, but that didn't mean he'd get another pass.
Just look at Newt Scamander, the famous Magizoologist—expelled for keeping magical creatures. Granted, Harold didn't know exactly what Newt had done or whether it was just keeping magical creatures, but one thing was certain: managing the professors' "anger meter" was never a bad idea.
Like the other night—McGonagall only docked twenty points. That was in large part thanks to the wand Harold had gifted her, one that used her own hair as its core.
She'd seen what he was capable of, knew he was working seriously and not just messing around. That's probably why she let him off with a symbolic punishment—more of a warning than anything else.
Fred and George, meanwhile, had been bothered about it for days.
They just couldn't wrap their heads around it—how had Harold gotten away with demolishing the dorm in the middle of the night and waking half the castle, and still only lost twenty points? No detention, no nothing?
They'd gotten detention just for sneaking out at night!
First impressions mattered.
So Harold decided to play it safe and keep a low profile for now. Wait until the heat died down, then revisit his plans.
Strangely enough, ever since setting his sights on the Whomping Willow, wand-making stopped feeling so dull. His efficiency even picked up. That sense of purpose made everything along the way feel brighter and more meaningful. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⟡𝘧𝙞𝙧𝙚⟡𝘯𝘦𝘵
For the next few weeks, Harold was fully immersed in that motivation, almost forgetting about the Willow altogether.
And since he'd already fed Tom the rest of the red cap hearts, and didn't feel like bothering Snape again, he just used the holiday wand-core materials that Hagrid had given him.
Besides, Snape was in an even fouler mood lately. Sometimes, he'd spot a Gryffindor in the hallway and immediately find a reason to dock two points.
If it was Harry, that number doubled.
No reason to poke that hornet's nest.
And Hagrid's materials were great anyway—no need to cling to red caps.
During this time, word had spread that Harold made wands regularly. More than a few students came by to watch, curious to see how it worked up close. Harold didn't turn them away.
At first, it was all amazement. But as people got used to it, they stopped making a fuss. Some even started bringing him things they thought might be useful for wand-making.
Harold had to explain more than once: sticks from the side of the road can't be turned into wands. It doesn't matter how straight or pretty they are.
And as for cat hair and owl feathers? Totally unsuitable as cores. Poor magical compatibility. Not even as good as toad bits, which, being common pets, at least had some merit.
Still, if someone insisted and paid, Harold was happy to craft keepsake "wands" for them.
Pet hair plus rowan wood—three Galleons apiece. Clearly priced. Not cheap, but not outrageous either.
To his surprise, these "high-end toys" were quite popular. He ended up taking thirty orders and made a tidy profit.
That same night, Harold placed a big order for premium magical woods, including hawthorn from Devon and both vine and beech from the Pyrenees in France.
Not only had he replenished everything he'd used over the term, he now had extra stock too.
With that kind of boost, his enthusiasm soared even higher—and it carried him all the way through the Easter holidays.
Whether it was due to approaching exams or just bad luck, the professors dropped a mountain of homework on them. Harold had to spend hours in the library just to keep up and only had evenings left for wand-making.
"You really ought to spend some time reviewing key facts," Hermione told him one evening after dinner. "You got the jumping fungus's habitat wrong in Herbology yesterday. That's going to cost you a lot of points on the exam."
"Thanks for the heads-up," Harold said, rubbing his forehead, "but I really don't have the time."
Honestly, Easter break was even worse than Christmas. The homework alone was enough to make him lose sleep.
He wasn't like Hermione—who could ace her assignments and memorize the twelve uses of dragon's blood and practice wand movements, all in the same day.
Harold had other things to do—far more important than memorizing trivia.
"…Maybe you could… I don't know… make fewer wands?" Hermione offered cautiously.
"Not happening," Harold said flatly. "Exams don't matter. First-years don't even sit for O.W.L.s. As long as I pass to second year, that's enough. But wand-making? That's something I can't afford to pause."
After making that massive two-foot wand, Harold could feel the change in himself.
He carved runes faster now. Transforming cores had become second nature. Right now, he needed as much hands-on practice as possible.
Seeing how firm he was, Hermione opened her mouth as if to argue, then just gave up.
After dinner, Harold headed back to the dorm and got to work again.
By the midpoint of the Easter holidays, he'd stumbled into an unexpected surprise.
A wand he'd made in just a single day—a deep black one.
[Ebony, Acromantula Leg, Eleven and One-Third Inches]
[Trait: Bind – +5% to the Leg-Locker Curse, +5% to the Petrificus Totalus, +5% to the Incarcerous spell]
Only 5% bonuses, sure—but for three different spells, all practical and useful? That absolutely qualified as a new golden legend.
But upon seeing the result, Harold couldn't help thinking about the Whomping Willow again.
Lots of legs (or branches), just like a spider. In a way, the two paired quite nicely.
And he still had one more, longer Acromantula leg left from Hagrid's gift pack.
Now Harold was starting to get restless.
That little impulse—the one he'd buried a while ago—was beginning to resurface.
He wanted to… prune the Whomping Willow.