Chapter 49: The Flustered Phoenix

Dumbledore's voice remained just as gentle and calm as ever, but for a split second, Harold suddenly felt a jolt of tension. His pulse quickened—loud enough, he thought, to echo in the silent office. It felt like he was being watched... by something not particularly friendly. But the sensation came out of nowhere and disappeared just as fast, leaving Harold wondering if he'd imagined it. Had he? Harold looked up at Dumbledore. The headmaster seemed the same as always, though he subtly gestured under his robe toward the door. Harold followed the direction of his finger and found himself staring into a pair of sharp, watchful eyes. Ah. That explained it. Dumbledore's phoenix, perched near the door, was glaring at him with puffed-up feathers, radiating suspicion. "Headmaster, I think your phoenix doesn't like me very much," Harold said carefully. "But I don't think we've met before?" He truly hadn't seen Fawkes until now. Normally, a phoenix wouldn't react like this to a stranger. Unless... Garrick Ollivander had yanked out its tail feathers? That would explain a lot. "I should clarify—we don't have the best relationship," Harold said, eyeing the phoenix. "So if there's any lingering grudge, it's probably not with me." His tone was earnest, but Fawkes didn't relax at all. "It has nothing to do with your grandfather," Dumbledore said. "Every feather Garrick used was given willingly. Fawkes chose to offer them." "Then why is he staring at me like I'm dinner?" Harold scratched his head. "Truthfully, this is the first time I've ever seen Fawkes act like this," Dumbledore admitted, glancing thoughtfully at the wand. "It's probably because of that." "The wand?" "Yes," Dumbledore said. "Your grandfather used feathers. But you... used an entire spine. Fawkes might be warning you not to get any ideas." "The phoenix's spine, huh..." Harold smacked his lips but said nothing. But Dumbledore's eye twitched. What was that reaction supposed to mean? Was he actually considering it? To be fair, Dumbledore wasn't wrong. Harold had, for one brief second, entertained the idea—just as a passing thought. But that was all it was. Because it was impossible. Phoenixes weren't trolls. They could teleport at will—Apparating in and out in a flash. If a phoenix didn't want to be found, no one ever would. And let's not forget the whole resurrection-through-fire thing. With a serious expression, Harold declared, "I would never think of something like that, Professor." Dumbledore's brows rose slightly. If he hadn't seen Harold's initial reaction, he might've believed that. But to be honest, he didn't particularly mind. Plenty of people had thoughts like that—potioneers, healers, dark wizards... even Nicolas Flamel had once eyed phoenix parts for alchemy. Fawkes didn't like Flamel much, either. But then Dumbledore noticed something interesting—after Harold made that statement, Fawkes noticeably relaxed. The feathers settled. The sharpness faded from his gaze. Phoenixes couldn't perform Legilimency, but they could sense emotions. That meant Harold had been sincere. "Is that really a wand?" Dumbledore redirected the conversation. "Of course. I swear it on the Ollivander name." "May I try it?" Dumbledore asked, sounding almost eager. He was genuinely curious—could a wand that looked like this actually cast magic? "I wouldn't recommend it," Harold replied. "This wand can only cast one kind of spell. And it always backfires." "Backfires?" Dumbledore tilted his head. "You mean... the spell will hit me?" "...Yes!" Harold nodded firmly. A silence settled over the office. Dumbledore and Fawkes both stared at him. Neither spoke, but their expressions practically wrote an entire two-foot-long essay in magical theory and social etiquette. A wand that attacks its user? From an Ollivander? Dumbledore's mind raced. Surely, there was something wise he could say here. Something to preserve Harold's pride while still maintaining his own authority as headmaster. Thirty seconds passed. Nothing. The centuries of education he was so proud of? Useless in this moment. Harold didn't notice Dumbledore's inner crisis. When the headmaster said nothing, he simply added, "I'm thinking of giving it to Hagrid." "...Do you not like Hagrid?" Dumbledore blurted before he could stop himself. "What? No, we're great friends. He gave me a really thoughtful Christmas present." Dumbledore hesitated, clearly trying not to say something like, "Then why are you trying to kill him?" Instead, he forced a nod. "Perhaps... perhaps only Hagrid could truly bring out the best in that wand." He meant the weight. And the sturdiness. But in his defense, Harold hadn't mentioned the wand's most important trait: the 30% boost to Shield Charms. Harold caught on to the misunderstanding and added, "Actually, this wand does have a strength. I've worked with troll-core wands before, and I believe this one should be particularly good for casting the Shield Charm." Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled. "No wonder. A very thoughtful gift indeed," he said. "So you've confirmed it works best with Protego?" "Not yet," Harold admitted. "I still want to test a few more options. And I'm not sure Hagrid would like it anyway—he seems very attached to his old wand." "Wand? You mean the umbrella?" Dumbledore corrected him immediately. "Ah, right. He's very fond of his umbrella," Harold echoed, quickly catching on. Of course. Hagrid wasn't legally allowed to own a wand. Dumbledore was sharp as ever. "Oh, it's nearly lunchtime," Dumbledore said, clearly wrapping up the meeting. With a wave of his hand, he levitated the wand back to Harold. "I only excused you from the morning class—don't be late this afternoon." "Got it." Harold left the office with the massive wand in tow, pausing to glance back at the now-closed gargoyle statue that guarded the entrance. When he'd first seen Dumbledore standing at his door, Harold had been nervous. He knew he'd probably crossed a few lines—loud noises at night, dismantling his own dorm room, crafting a wand that could explode in your hand... definitely violations of some kind. He'd assumed Dumbledore was there to hold him accountable. But instead... nothing. No deductions. No detention. Not even a warning. Just curiosity about a wand? Harold still didn't get it. But then again, if there were no punishments coming, why question it? (End of Chapter)