Of all of them, Ron was the most unhappy about Hermione buying Crookshanks.
The reason? His pet rat had been so terrified by the ginger cat that it bolted through the streets, and it had taken them over ten minutes to catch it again—curled up under a pile of trash behind the Quidditch shop.
And now Hermione was actually taking that cat with her to Hogwarts. Of course Ron wasn't thrilled.
But Hermione was completely absorbed with Crookshanks and clearly didn't care what Ron thought.
So, on the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, the two started bickering again.
Harold, however, didn't go with them—he had been pulled aside by Fred and George.
The twins had something up their sleeves again and, looking suspiciously pleased with themselves, dragged Harold into a quieter alleyway away from the crowds.
"We really couldn't get hold of a mummy," Fred started, nearly giving Harold a heart attack.
A mummy?! They had actually tried?
Everyone knew that once a mummy was taken out of its pyramid, chaos could follow. One second it's just lying there, the next it's back from the dead, launching a violent rampage on anyone nearby.
Mummies were worse than inferi—armor-like skin and bones immune to most magic, and their bandages could summon swarms of flesh-eating scarabs. No ordinary witch or wizard could deal with that.
Worse still, mummies had almost no alchemical or magical value. They weren't good for potions, and they weren't used for wand materials. Their only real purpose was to give reckless adventurers an exhilarating taste of running for their lives.
Even Dark Wizards preferred dragons over mummies.
And yet Fred and George had seriously tried to bring one back?
Harold raised an eyebrow.
"I know, I know—you're disappointed," George said, glancing at Harold. "But the goblins had that place locked down tight. We couldn't get close."
"You've got it wrong," Harold said with a dry laugh. "I'm not the least bit disappointed. So… did you pull me aside just to tell me that?"
"Of course not," Fred said, glancing around before reaching deep into his robes and pulling out a scrap of dusty, grey fabric.
"What's that?" Harold asked curiously.
"Bandages," George said proudly. "From a mummy. We tore it off ourselves."
The moment Harold caught a glimpse of it, he blinked—and when he opened his eyes again, he was standing ten feet away from them.
"What's wrong?" Fred asked in confusion.
"Hold on…" Harold hesitated. "Do either of you feel like you're being watched?"
"Watched?" George frowned. "No…"
"Seriously? Nothing?" Harold pressed.
"Nothing at all," Fred said, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you on about?"
"Never mind," Harold muttered.
It seemed the mummy they'd stolen from was really dead… as dead as one of those things could be, anyway. It sounded ridiculous, but it wasn't far from the truth.
Mummies corrupted by magic were somewhat like ghosts—magical lifeforms of a sort. Only they had less freedom and acted mostly on instinct.
And their core instinct was to guard the treasure inside their pyramid.
Fred and George had gotten lucky. Being cursed by a mummy wasn't the issue—Dumbledore could deal with that in minutes and probably toss the mummy into the fireplace for good measure.
But stealing from inside a pyramid? That was a legal issue. That would bring in Aurors, and that was the real danger.
After hearing Harold's explanation, both Fred and George turned pale.
"You're joking…"
"But—Bill never said anything about that…"
"Maybe he didn't know," Harold said. "It's likely the goblins kept it a secret."
"Why would they?" Fred asked. "What do they gain from it?"
"Oh, loads," Harold shrugged. "Think about it—if Bill ever got targeted by a mummy, it'd be the perfect evidence that he tried to steal something. It's basically a self-activating alarm. Of course the goblins wouldn't mention it."
The twins stared at him, then their expressions twisted into indignant fury.
"Those greedy little—"
"——!"
They launched into a string of creative and colorful curses aimed at the goblin race's entire family tree, entirely oblivious to the fact that stealing bandages was exactly what the goblins were trying to prevent.
Their rants were getting loud enough to attract attention, so Harold had to cut them off.
"Why did you want the bandages anyway?" he asked. "They're useless."
"You said you wanted a mummy," Fred said, staring straight at Harold.
"So we figured we'd get you something as a souvenir," George added.
"Wait—what?" Harold blinked. "When did I say I wanted a mummy?"
"The other day, remember?" George said. "We said we'd bring one back as a gift, and you looked so excited—your eyes lit up and everything. Then you ran upstairs all worked up."
Only then did Harold realize where the misunderstanding had come from.
He'd been excited that day because he'd figured out why the Serpentwood wand had failed—not because of the stupid mummy idea.
When he explained this, Fred and George fell silent, faces slowly twisting into expressions like they'd just been hit by their own dungbombs.
The air was heavy with mutual embarrassment.
Still… managing to steal a bandage from under goblin surveillance was no small feat.
…
That evening, the Weasleys used the rest of their prize money to order a feast at the Leaky Cauldron. They warmly invited Harold to join.
But Harold politely declined.
Term started the next day, and he wanted to have dinner with Garrick instead. Besides, if Professor McGonagall sent a letter that evening, he needed to be there to receive it right away.
Unfortunately, no owl came from Hogwarts that night.
…
The next morning, something unusual happened.
Perhaps out of guilt for making him take the Knight Bus the past two years, Garrick actually escorted Harold to King's Cross Station himself.
Harold was deeply moved—though before he could say anything, Garrick vanished with a soft pop of Apparition, leaving only a fading "Have a good trip" in the air.
Well, at least he brought him to the station.
Harold pushed his trolley into the station and immediately noticed something different.
There were more wizards than usual.
In the past, there were usually just two Ministry workers on hand to modify the memories of any Muggles who caught a glimpse of magic.
Today, Harold counted at least fifteen. From the entrance all the way to the platforms, people in ridiculous outfits—button-up shirts with beach shorts—stood awkwardly around. Only wizards dressed like that.
Harold even spotted a familiar face: Barle Wilson, the over-eager Hit Wizard from Diagon Alley. He was here too?
Probably looking for Sirius Black. There were likely Aurors around too, just better at hiding.
Harold pretended not to notice anything, walking calmly through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Even the platform itself was swarming with undercover wizards, poorly disguised as parents. They kept scanning the crowd nervously, clearly hunting for someone.
So unprofessional, Harold thought. At least sell some cauldron cakes or butterbeer. Standing around like that just looks suspicious.
Soon, Harry and the others arrived.
Mrs. Weasley ushered everyone onto the train, while Mr. Weasley pulled Harry aside for a long talk. It wasn't until the whistle blew and Mrs. Weasley started yelling that Harry came running back.
He climbed aboard just as the doors closed and the train started moving.
"I need to talk to you all—privately," Harry said.
Harold was just about to nod when—
BANG!
There was a loud crack, like something exploding.
"Professor McGonagall?" Hermione gasped as the professor appeared out of nowhere.
"Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall said with a nod, her gaze shifting to Harold.
"Come with me, Mr. Ollivander," she said briskly, then turned and walked toward the rear of the train.
Harold quickly followed.
They reached the end of the train. Harold glanced into the next compartment and saw only one person, asleep with his head down. That must be Remus Lupin—the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
"Professor," Harold said eagerly, "is it the storm—"
"Yes," McGonagall nodded. "South of the Forbidden Forest. Late this afternoon."
"That's great!" Harold said. "I've been waiting for it for days."
"I miscalculated the timing," McGonagall admitted. "I got to the platform and saw the train already moving. Fortunately, it wasn't going too fast yet."
"You won't be riding the train," she said, grabbing Harold's arm. "The Hogwarts Express won't arrive until evening. The storm will hit in the afternoon. We need to be there ahead of time. You must take the potion the moment it completes its final transformation. That's when it's most effective."
"You're ready, I assume? You've mastered Side-Along Apparition?"
"Yes, I can do it," Harold said. But just as he opened his mouth to say more— "Wait, Professor, there's something—"
He'd meant to warn her that Dementors would board the train mid-journey.
But the tight, suffocating sensation of Apparition closed in before he could speak another word.
Garrick had brought him here the same way. He recognized the feeling immediately.
They had already left the Hogwarts Express.
And with the train speeding up, it was unlikely McGonagall would be able to return.
But it should be fine…
Harold remembered the man he'd seen in the last compartment. That had to be Remus Lupin, Hogwarts' new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
He could handle the Dementors.
…
(End of Chapter)