At exactly five o'clock, Harold and Garrick Ollivander left the Dragon Sanctuary.Just a few minutes later, they appeared inside a room at the Ministry of Magic.
The only annoying thing about using official Portkeys was that, if you were coming back to Britain, you had to first pass through the Ministry.
Romania had no such annoying rules — when they traveled there, they had arrived directly at the sanctuary's gates.
"Five-oh-three, arriving from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary," someone called out.
"Good afternoon, Basil," Garrick said smoothly, clearly used to this routine.
The Ministry worker took one look at Garrick Ollivander and waved them through without even asking a single question.
"Good thing it wasn't Lambert on duty," Garrick said cheerfully."Otherwise we'd have been stuck for at least another ten minutes."He looked very pleased — clearly their trip to the sanctuary had been a big success. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⁂𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⁂𝕟𝕖𝕥
Harold had learned something new, too:Apparently, even Garrick Ollivander had to scramble and compete to secure high-quality dragon heartstrings and sinew.Thanks to Dumbledore's help this time, it seemed Garrick had managed to "snatch" quite a bit.According to him, Gregorovitch and Arcaiol had stormed off looking absolutely furious.
After leaving the Ministry, they crossed the bustling Atrium and used the Floo Network to return to the Leaky Cauldron.
Garrick soon locked himself away in his workshop again, busy as ever.Harold, meanwhile, settled back into his own routines, occasionally hanging around the bar downstairs.
Even though that mysterious cowboy-hatted wizard hadn't shown up again, there were always enough half-drunk wizards boasting and making a scene to keep things interesting.
Days passed like that until the end of July, when owls started flooding the skies of London.
One evening, as twilight deepened, Harold stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and, out of habit, glanced toward Knockturn Alley.
Something caught his eye — and instinctively, he stopped dead.
A hag was holding something — a lizard — but it wasn't just any ordinary lizard.
It was dried and shriveled, but half-transparent, glittering like crystal even in the dim light.
Almost unconsciously, Harold's feet turned toward the alley.
Up close, he saw it even more clearly:The lizard's back was etched with natural rune-like patterns, different on the left and right sides.
Mystic-Pattern Chameleon, a rare magical creature.Not exactly endangered, but incredibly difficult to catch.
These lizards could mimic their surroundings flawlessly — color, shape, even size.One second they looked like a pebble, the next like a fallen leaf, or even a broken lightbulb.You could only find them by blanketing an entire forest with detection spells — and even then, it was mostly luck.
Only Knockturn Alley would have something casually for sale — legal or not.Harold immediately recognized the telltale signs that this particular one had been handled by North American smugglers — only they would forcefully straighten the tail like that.
Meaning... this was definitely a smuggled product.
Odd, though.Wasn't this hag a poison-seller before? Always peddling claw nails and skulls... When did she branch out into animal trafficking?
"How much?" Harold asked directly, frowning.
"Five hundred Galleons," the hag rasped, baring yellow-green teeth.
She looked exactly like a witch out of a Muggle fairy tale — tattered robes, straw-like hair — the works.The sight made Harold's skin crawl a little.
"That's outrageous," Harold said, edging subtly backward."Everyone knows these are worth a hundred Galleons at most — even here in Knockturn Alley."
"No haggling," the hag said coldly."But you're welcome to negotiate directly with the sellers — I'm sure they'd be delighted to meet you."
She suddenly burst into eerie laughter.
Clack, clack, clack...
Footsteps echoed behind Harold.He instantly realized something was wrong.He turned sharply — and froze.
Two shadowy figures had silently appeared behind him.
Glancing around, he spotted three more figures advancing from deeper in the alley.
Including the hag, that made six enemies.
Harold's stomach sank.
He realized now:The Mystic-Pattern Chameleon wasn't really for sale.It was bait.
"But why me?" he thought grimly.
"You must have the wrong guy," Harold said aloud, keeping his voice calm."I'm just a normal Hogwarts student."
"Hardly normal, Harold Ollivander," rasped one of the shadowed figures, stepping forward.
His entire form was hidden under a heavy black hood — so dark it seemed to absorb the faint moonlight.
But it wasn't his appearance that chilled Harold.It was the way he said Harold's name.
They had come specifically for him.
Why?I'm not Harry Potter! Harold thought desperately.I'm just a nobody wandmaker...
Then realization struck."You're after the wand shop," Harold said suddenly, sounding almost relieved."You want Ollivanders."
The leader paused — then let out a soft, amused chuckle.
"Smart boy. How did you guess?"
"I guessed," Harold shrugged.
"No rush," the figure said."We can chat as we walk."
He pointed his wand toward deeper Knockturn Alley, motioning Harold to move.
Harold obeyed — carefully — all the while explaining:
"You clearly know my name.You knew I sometimes visit Knockturn Alley.You planned this."
He nodded at the witch."She replaced a stall I used to visit about a month ago.The old seller... never showed up again."Harold's voice hardened slightly."You killed him, didn't you?"
The leader didn't answer — which was answer enough.
"And then," Harold continued, "you used the lizard to lure me in, knowing I like magical creatures."
Piece by piece, it all clicked together.
No wonder Knockturn Alley had so many unfamiliar faces lately.No wonder something as rare as a Mystic-Pattern Chameleon had been sitting there, unsold, for so long.