Chapter 48: Dumbledore

The wand that had taken Harold ten full days to craft had truly given him a roller-coaster of emotions. When he first saw the "Recoil" trait, everything went dark—he nearly passed out from sheer frustration. A wand guaranteed to backfire on the caster? If word got out, he'd be the laughingstock of wandmakers everywhere. And it wasn't just any backfire. This one reversed every possible safeguard—even holding the wand backward wouldn't help. Then came "Blunt"—a trait that, without "Recoil," would've had Harold leaping for joy. It meant you could potentially cast the Killing Curse like a Lumos charm—turning it into a genuine tool of mass destruction. By itself, it was easily one of the most overpowered traits Harold had ever seen. Not just legendary—full technicolor, with sparkles. But when paired with "Recoil," all offensive spells were completely off the table. You'd basically be killing yourself. The wand's value dropped off a cliff. That is, until the last trait appeared: "Protego." A +30% boost to defensive spells—just as straightforward as it was powerful. It pulled the wand right back from the brink of disaster. While it wasn't as sexy as "Blunt" to power-hungry duelists, from another angle, the combination was actually brilliant: Extreme defense. Harold narrowed his eyes, already thinking of one key spell. The Shield Charm—Protego. And this was a wand that boosted it by 30%. Thanks to "Blunt," the user wouldn't need to bother with words, wand movement, or finesse—just channel magic straight into the wand, and a protective barrier would instantly appear. And "Recoil" ensured that even if the spell did go wrong, it would still come back to protect the caster—not anyone else. Harold wasn't sure if "Recoil" would double the spell's effect, but if it did... that meant double shielding. Not bad. There was also an unlisted hidden trait he decided to name "Unbreakable." Made from dense oak wood and a full-length troll spine, the wand had the weight of a solid iron rod. Holding it felt like gripping a steel beam. Judging by the destruction it had already caused in his room, getting hit with it was probably the magical equivalent of being knocked out by a hammer. Knockback Jinx (Physical Edition). Harold slapped his cheeks, trying to stay focused. And that's when he realized something unfortunate: he probably couldn't use this wand himself. It was too heavy. He'd never be able to keep up in a duel with it. He'd tire out just swinging the thing around. Plus, he didn't have the strength to make full use of its impact. But someone did. Someone perfectly suited to it. Hagrid—a half-giant! With his monstrous strength, Hagrid could wield the wand effortlessly. And as a half-giant, he had just enough magical blood to use it. Harold raised an eyebrow. He'd just found Hagrid's Christmas present. At eleven feet tall, Hagrid's size made the wand look perfectly proportioned. Add his natural magic resistance, and then tack on the wand's shielding buff? Wait. Harold suddenly sat up, a thought forming—but then he sighed and shook his head. Wishful thinking. A half-giant's innate resistances weren't spells—they wouldn't be amplified by the wand. Still, it was terrifying enough as is. Imagine a chaotic battlefield. Out of the smoke charges a near-magic-immune half-giant, wielding an "Avada Kedavra Bat," barreling toward you at 70 mph... Just thinking about it gave Harold chills. He started second-guessing whether he should really give it to Hagrid. What if he got angry one day and decided to storm the Ministry of Magic? Could the Aurors even stop him? He sat there on his bed, mulling it all over, until sleep slowly overtook him. By the time he woke up, it was nearly noon. Rubbing his forehead, Harold blearily checked the time. In the next second, he was wide awake. He was late—only twenty minutes left of class! Damn it. The worst part about a private dorm room: no one to wake you up. Harold threw on clothes and shoes in a panic, yanked open the door, and bolted into the hallway. "Good morning, Mr. Ollivander." The warm voice stopped him dead in his tracks. Harold blinked, wondering if he was still dreaming. Surely he was. Because otherwise, why on earth was Dumbledore standing right outside his door? "I can assure you, you're awake," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Would you join me for a cup of tea? I was woken up last night—because of you, I might add—after only one hour of sleep." "Er—Headmaster, I have class," Harold said instinctively. "I'm already late." "No need to worry," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "I took the liberty of excusing you from Professor Flitwick's lesson. Seems it's come in handy." "...Alright then." "Thank you. Oh, and do bring that remarkable wand of yours." Since Dumbledore had gone through the trouble, Harold didn't argue. He returned to grab the wand, then followed him out of Gryffindor Tower and two corridors over to the Headmaster's office. It was Harold's first time inside. He dropped the wand onto a table with a thud, took a deep breath, and looked around curiously. His attention was quickly drawn to a set of silvery instruments puffing out little streams of smoke. "I like to add a touch of Dreamless Sleep Draught before bed—it helps me fall asleep more quickly. Of course, right now they're filled with a basic invigorating potion. Madam Pomfrey gave it to me to fend off the flu," said Dumbledore. "May I have a look at the wand?" "Of course," Harold nodded. "Thank you." Dumbledore stepped forward and grasped the wand—but paused when it didn't budge. Then, with a subtle flick of his fingers, the wand floated smoothly into the air and hovered before him. Oh, right. Harold slapped his forehead. Why the hell had he carried it the whole way when he could've just used a Levitation Charm? He had other wands—he didn't need to lug this monster around! Across the room, Dumbledore studied the wand, murmuring, "It's certainly a wand. An extraordinary craft, Mr. Ollivander." "It's nothing," Harold said, shaking his head. "The magical world is full of talented witches and wizards. I heard there's an Auror who can shapeshift without using Polyjuice Potion." "Ah, I believe I know who you're referring to," Dumbledore chuckled. "Nymphadora Tonks. The only Metamorphmagus born in five centuries. An enviable gift." He looked over the rim of his glasses, eyes twinkling. "But you are quite remarkable yourself." "I heard this wand's core is a whole troll spine," he added. (End of Chapter)