The hair-wand project wasn't going smoothly. The main problem was that Harold couldn't find a wand wood that matched Professor McGonagall's hair.
Wizards had very distinct magical traits, and they subconsciously rejected materials they didn't resonate with.
Oak, vine, beechwood… Over the past few days, Harold had tested all the materials he carried with him. Not only did none of them work, but he even accidentally blew apart two strands of hair.
That put him in a gloom for several days. He was debating whether to ask Hagrid to take him into the Forbidden Forest over the weekend to find new wand materials.
While Harold, lost in thought, passed through the common room, he was suddenly stopped by Harry and Ron.
"Hey, Harold, what's up with you lately? You've been out of it all week," Harry finally couldn't help asking.
"Yeah," Hermione chimed in, walking over. "You've already been late three times—we've lost twenty House points for Gryffindor…"
"What'd you bring that up for?" Ron glared at her before turning back to Harold. "We just want to know what's going on. Maybe we can help."
"Oh, it's nothing." Harold rubbed his face. He realized he'd been a bit too obsessed the past couple of days.
Making a wand from a wizard's hair wasn't something that could be done in just a day or two.
"Sorry," Harold said, trying to clear his head. "Oh, and I'll try to earn back the points I lost."
"No big deal. Snape would've found a way to dock points even if you were on time," Ron said, shooting Hermione another look. She turned away, avoiding his gaze.
For context, Harold had lost fifteen points just yesterday for being late to Potions.
"What's the next class?" Harold asked.
"Flying," Harry replied—prompting a chorus of groans.
"What, you guys don't like flying class?" Harold asked.
"No, we just don't want to take it with the Slytherins," Ron said, pointing to a notice posted behind the door.
[First-year Gryffindors are to report to the training grounds at 3:30 p.m. Thursday for flying lessons with Slytherin students – Rolanda Hooch]
No wonder.
Gryffindors and Slytherins couldn't stand each other. They'd argue the moment they met. Normally, they only shared Potions—and everyone just tolerated that. But now, flying too?
"Nothing to be done. It's the school's arrangement," Harold said. "Just pretend they don't exist."
"Easier said than done," Harry sighed. "But messing up on a broomstick in front of Malfoy? There's no way he won't notice."
Harold didn't respond.
Harry's worries were unnecessary—but he didn't know that. And even if Harold told him, he wouldn't believe it.
As for Harold himself, he wasn't particularly interested in broomsticks.
Flying required one hand on the broom, making it inconvenient to wield a wand. That made Harold feel unsafe.
So normally, he preferred keeping his feet firmly on the ground—unless he could ride a wand into the air…
Wait.
Harold glanced at the broomstick Madam Hooch had placed beside her foot and suddenly blinked.
The handle of that broomstick—it looked a lot like… a giant wand.
The more he looked at it, the more similar it seemed. The proportions of length to thickness matched a wand perfectly.
Harold instinctively reached out for a closer look.
At that moment, the broomstick leapt straight into his hand as if summoned by thought.
"Perfect demonstration—even I couldn't have done it better," Madam Hooch announced loudly. "Gryffindor gets two points. But next time, please raise your hand before the demo. We'll let it slide this once."
Harold wasn't even listening to her. His focus was completely on the broomstick's handle.
It was perfect… The surface was a bit rough, but there were no cracks. That meant the core structure was undamaged.
Harold pulled out his wand and tapped the broomstick lightly.
The wooden handle uncoiled like a roll of paper, separating into a dozen thin sheets in the blink of an eye.
Harold picked one up and closely examined the grain.
Fir wood. Premium quality. Judging by its condition, it was roughly a hundred years old.
It was well maintained too. If he removed the rough outer layer, the inner wood was smooth and fine—like it had been waxed to a shine.
Truth be told, what Harold had just done—dismantling a school broomstick without permission—definitely wasn't allowed. But somehow, no one around him stopped him. Not even Madam Hooch.
...Actually, she genuinely hadn't noticed.
Because everyone's eyes were fixed on the sky.
Perhaps because of Harold's earlier warning to be careful, Neville had been extremely tense. He misheard Madam Hooch's command and shot off the ground prematurely.
Then crashed headfirst into a wall.
Madam Hooch had already taken him to the hospital wing. Meanwhile, Harry and Malfoy were now fighting over the Remembrall Neville had dropped.
Everyone was too busy watching them to notice that Harold had completely disassembled his broom.
Ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall came striding over from the castle.
"From that high?! What were you thinking… All right, Potter, come with me."
"And you—Ollivander! School rules forbid damaging brooms. Gryffindor loses two points. If you can't fix that broom before the next class, it'll be twenty!"
No one answered.
"Mr. Ollivander, are you listening to me?" McGonagall's tone sharpened, her glasses flashing with frustration.
Hermione gave Harold a hard punch on the arm.
"Put the broom back together. Now," McGonagall repeated.
Though Harold hadn't seen what just happened, he could more or less guess. He immediately nodded.
That seemed to satisfy McGonagall, who then left the field with a sulking Harry in tow.
"You're way too bold," Hermione scolded. "Why would you take apart a school broom?"
"I didn't damage it," Harold said, pulling out another wand.
From his earlier inspection, he was already certain this broom handle met all the requirements for a wand shaft—no modifications needed.
What he hadn't had time to check was whether any runes had been carved into the wood. If not, he might actually be able to fly on a wand.
Harold raised his wand, ready to restore the broom. But the motion accidentally flung something off the wand—a hair.
A single strand floated through the air and gently landed on one of the wooden sheets.
Professor McGonagall's hair—leftover from his earlier experiments. After they failed, Harold had just stuffed it into his pocket.
Now, the hair clung tightly to the edge of the wood piece—so snug it looked glued in place. No matter how he shook it, it wouldn't come off.
"Wait…" Harold's lips twitched. A strange feeling crept over him.
He might've just found the perfect match for the wand shaft…
No, correction—the hair had found it.
McGonagall's hair, pairing itself with something that represented Quidditch… a flying broomstick.
Well then—this actually made a lot of sense!
(End of Chapter)