Chapter 7: Don’t Call Me a Wand-Maker

Words : 1121 Updated : Sep 25th, 2025

Starting Chapter 7 of "Harry Potter: The Wandmaker": The Hogwarts Express—a vintage steam train—was slow and not exactly luxurious. Its only redeeming feature... See what happens next!

The Hogwarts Express—a vintage steam train—was slow and not exactly luxurious. Its only redeeming feature was the scenic countryside visible along the way. Or so Harold had heard from other wizards. He was about to find out for himself. He hadn't arrived particularly early, and most compartments were already full. Eventually, near the rear of the train, he found an empty one. "Lucky," he muttered, pulling out his wand and pointing it at his trunk, giving a little upward flick. "Wingardium Leviosa..." The trunk floated upward in a rather wobbly and awkward manner, crawling into position on the luggage rack with clear effort. "Actually, it's *Levi-*OOO-sa, not levi-o-SAH. Your emphasis and pause were both off." The sudden voice startled Harold. A brown-haired girl had opened the compartment door and marched in without hesitation, sitting down right across from him. Trailing behind her was a nervous, round-faced boy. "Hi, I'm Hermione Granger. And this is Neville Longbottom," she introduced brightly. "Hello. I'm Harold Ollivander," Harold replied. "We were looking for seats and saw you trying the Levitation Charm. I've tried it too—it went well! I've memorized all of Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1, plus several supplemental texts I bought on my own. Have you?" Her words poured out in a rapid-fire torrent, ending in a tone that was... slightly overbearing. "I haven't," Harold said flatly. "And frankly, I don't see the point of wasting time memorizing textbooks before school even starts." Hermione blinked—clearly not expecting that kind of response. The atmosphere went awkward in an instant. Neville, desperately trying to ease the tension, opened his mouth a few times but couldn't find the words. He looked close to panicking. But honestly, he was overthinking it. Neither Harold nor Hermione cared much. Harold simply didn't. Hermione was used to this kind of reaction. "I'm the only one in here. If you don't mind, we can share the space." "Thank you," Hermione said. She had no intention of leaving anyway. The train was about to depart—she wouldn't find another empty spot. Once they'd stowed their things, Harold pulled out a thick hardcover book and began reading near the window. The platform outside was still chaotic with parents seeing off their kids, but Harold ignored the noise. He read intently, occasionally pulling out a stick of wood and using a small knife to shave it here and there. At some point, the train had already left the station, rolling past golden wheat fields and distant villages. But the compartment wasn't any quieter. Mostly because of Hermione. From the moment she sat down, she hadn't stopped talking. She rattled on to Neville about the books she'd read, the spells she'd memorized, how much she'd prepared... Chirping away like a parrot showing off its feathers. Harold had known about Hermione's personality beforehand, but experiencing it firsthand was something else. The fact she could ramble on for two hours about basic spells was truly impressive. Even more baffling was Neville, who kept nodding and agreeing like he wasn't even mildly annoyed. Harold had assumed it would go on like that until they reached Hogwarts—but he was wrong. Eventually, Hermione's attention shifted to him. "What book are you reading...?" She'd clearly been dying to ask. She leaned forward, craning her neck to peek. "Maybe we could compare notes. I got a lot of extra reference books too—A History of Modern Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. Yours is..." Smack! Just as she leaned in, Harold reflexively snapped the book shut, blocking her view. His abrupt action made Hermione freeze. Her expression shifted—this time, she looked offended. "I wasn't going to steal it. I could've let you borrow mine too—" "No, you misunderstood." Harold quickly shook his head. "Actually, this book is magical. Looking at its contents without care might cause... complications." "A magical book?" Hermione clearly wasn't buying it. How could a book be "not safe" to read? She'd been to the bookshops in Diagon Alley. She'd browsed through plenty of books just fine. "He's right." Neville suddenly piped up. "There are lots of books in the magical world you're not supposed to read casually." His voice was small, but his face was solemn, like he was repeating sacred knowledge. "My gran told me once about a cursed book. The person who read it could only speak one word per second afterward. Not sure if it's true." "It is," Harold added quietly. "I've met that person, actually." "You've met them?" Hermione's eyes widened. Her voice jumped in pitch and volume. She looked from Harold to the book, then practically flung herself backward, pressing against the wall of the compartment. She absolutely did not want to be stuck only speaking one word per second. That would be terrifying. "You're overthinking it. This book's not like that." Harold gave the book a little shake. On the cover were two crossed wands, with faded, worn lettering. The book looked ancient. Hermione squinted and could just barely make out the word "Ollivander" on one of the wands. Wait... Ollivander? "I knew I'd seen you before!" she blurted, startling Neville again. But Hermione didn't even notice. She locked eyes with Harold. "I saw you at the wand shop! You were standing right next to Mr. Ollivander!" "Well, aren't you clever," Harold said dryly. "You even remembered the wandmaker's name. If your memory were just a little sharper, maybe you'd have recalled my introduction too." "Remember it? Harold Ollivander?" Hermione's cheeks flushed red. She'd been so busy correcting Harold's spellcasting earlier, she hadn't really paid attention to what he'd said. "Of course I remembered... I just... didn't connect the dots," she mumbled. Harold didn't press the point. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. Turns out, everyone was right—Hogwarts Express really was uncomfortable. He was already stiff and sore. Across from him, Hermione was still watching him, mouth open like she had something to say, but hesitating. That hesitation didn't last long. Just as Harold returned to his book— "So... are you a wand-maker too?" Harold's expression shifted slightly. He looked at the two of them with a rare seriousness. "If possible, I'd prefer you use the proper term—wand craftsman." "What's the difference?" Harold didn't answer right away. After a pause, he said, "Think of it like the difference between 'cat' and 'tabby cat.'" (End of Chapter)

Chapter 7: Don’t Call Me a Wand-Maker

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