Harold felt like he was being laughed at.
Sure, he wasn't the best at flying — but so what? Wasn't that perfectly normal? Even Hogwarts didn't allow first-years to try out for the Quidditch teams. His flying skills were already better than most kids his age.
At least he didn't fall off the broom.
"If I remember correctly," Charlie said awkwardly, looking away, "Dragonblood trees aren't really suited for wand-making."
"Why's that?" Harold asked.
"Because the people who buy Dragonblood wood are usually alchemists, potion masters, or magizoologists," Charlie explained. "Ever since I started working here, I've never seen Mr. Ollivander come looking for Dragonblood wood. Same for Gregorovitch."
Gregorovitch was another famous wandmaker — better known in Eastern Europe, mostly supplying wands for students at Durmstrang.
There was also Cosmé Acajou, who worked with Beauxbatons students. He was the oldest of the three major European wandmakers, though far less famous than the other two.
In the wand-making world, reputation didn't necessarily equal skill, but it definitely meant something.
It was just like now — Charlie had casually mentioned two names, but skipped the third.
Even the Delacour family from France, when they needed a wand made with Veela hair, had traveled all the way to Ollivander rather than using the closer Acajou.
"Wait a minute..." Harold suddenly noticed something interesting. "Charlie, just now you said people buy Dragonblood wood? You can actually buy it?"
"If it's just the wood, yeah," Charlie said in a low voice. "The sanctuary costs a fortune to run. The funding we get from different Ministries keeps shrinking — we can't even afford enough dragon feed anymore.We have to figure out ways to make money ourselves.
"Dragonblood wood and dragon dung fertilizer — those are considered sanctuary products now. Not like dragon body parts, which are strictly regulated. We can sell them freely."
"Is it expensive?" Harold's eyes lit up. If it could be bought, that changed everything — his grandfather had just gotten a hefty subsidy for making first-year wands. They had hundreds of Garions on hand.
"Not really. A bookmark made from five-year-old Dragonblood wood costs about ten Sickles. If you want one, I could even give it to you for free."
Harold immediately stopped smiling.
Not because it was cheap — because it was too expensive.
Ten Sickles could buy a feast-sized candy haul on the Hogwarts Express: two boxes of Chocolate Frogs, a bag of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, two big boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, five Licorice Wands, and a three-inch Cauldron Cake. Enough for two kids to snack on all the way to school.
And that was just five years of Dragonblood wood. Harold needed something far higher-grade than that. Follow current novels on 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⁂𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⁂𝕟𝕖𝕥
"Oh, right," Charlie said suddenly. "You're a first-year too — you know Ron Weasley? He's my little brother. Gryffindor House."
"I know him," Harold said casually. "We were even roommates for a while."
"You're kidding!" Charlie's voice shot up in surprise. He stared at Harold like he'd grown a second head. "But he's in... wait — you're also in Gryffindor?"
Seeing Charlie's shocked expression, Harold felt like he'd been shot in the heart again.
It was like everyone just assumed wandmakers couldn't possibly be sorted into Gryffindor — even if they had been Gryffindors themselves.
"The Sorting Hat said I fit there," Harold said nonchalantly. Then he quickly steered the conversation back: "Anyway, are there any older Dragonblood trees? Like a thousand years old?"
"Nope," Charlie said immediately.
The older the tree, the stronger its scent — and the more dragons would be attracted to it. But just like ordinary plants can be overwatered, too much dragonfire would eventually kill a Dragonblood tree.Plus, the sanctuary itself had only been around for about a century. Any truly ancient trees would have to predate it, and those were incredibly rare.
"I see... but if there was such a tree, what do you think it would cost?" Harold asked cautiously.
"Hard to say," Charlie mused. "The oldest I've seen was about two hundred years old. A Bulgarian alchemist bought a broomstick-sized branch for about a hundred Garions."
"That expensive?!" Harold couldn't keep his voice steady. He had expected it to be pricey — but this?
Even if you just scaled by age, a thousand-year-old Dragonblood tree would cost five hundred Garions minimum — and Harold needed even more than that.
He simply couldn't afford it.
Charlie watched Harold's devastated expression and couldn't help but chuckle a little... they were just chatting casually, but Harold had taken it seriously.
"Forget about it," Charlie said, sounding like a wise older brother. "Those ancient trees? They're a dragon's most treasured possessions.You'd have to be crazy enough to steal a dragon's pillow to even think about it!"
Charlie laughed heartily at his own joke.
But Harold didn't find it funny at all — he seriously wanted one.
No wonder his grandfather had looked like he was about to have a stroke when Harold took that Dragonblood branch — it was like the shop was going to go bankrupt on the spot.
Now Harold understood.Good thing Garrick Ollivander hadn't intended to mass-produce Dragonblood wood wands — otherwise Harold wouldn't have gotten lucky.
Still, where had that branch even come from? — Hebridean Islands, maybe?
Harold thought immediately of that place. In Britain's magical world, when people mentioned dragons, they thought of two places: the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, or the Hebridean Black Dragons of the Scottish islands.
According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the Hebridean Blacks had been there for centuries — almost as long as Hogwarts itself. There might really be ancient Dragonblood trees there.
The only problem was, the place was heavily hidden by Fidelius Charms and other protective spells — only a handful of wizards even knew how to find it.
Harold sighed. Looks like money was still the easier route.
If only it didn't cost so damn much.Compared to this, unicorn hair at nine Garions per strand sounded like a bargain. Even the hundred-Garion-a-pint Acromantula venom seemed affordable.
Harold suddenly thought Voldemort didn't deserve it —
He was just a Dark wizard.Was he really worth spending more than five hundred Garions on?
Actually no — Voldemort had wasted over five hundred Garions already!
Harold thought bitterly of the Dragonblood wand that had exploded into pieces — and briefly fantasized about breaking his short wand apart and sending the unicorn spirit to ram a hole straight through Voldemort.
He quickly crushed that thought though — too wasteful. Better to take it out on something else.
Maybe those Horcruxes.