Chapter 87: Mystic-Pattern Chameleon Pouch

That semi-transparent, dried Mystic-Pattern Chameleon had been kept in a box. When Harold took it out again, it looked exactly as it had the night he'd first seen it—unchanged in every way. Held under the sunlight, its back still shimmered faintly with rune-like markings, as if etched with Norse runes. Used as a wand core, it would undoubtedly produce a brilliant Transfiguration wand. Even if it couldn't match Silvermane's brilliance, it would be on par with Professor McGonagall's hair. Harold had no doubt about that. But he had no plans to use it for that purpose—this Mystic-Pattern Chameleon had a far more important role to play. Sitting by the window, Harold carefully took out a vial of mandrake sap he'd paid a small fortune for from the apothecary next door. With utmost care, he dripped it into the chameleon's mouth. Like ink dropped into water, the grayish-brown mandrake sap spread rapidly, washing over the chameleon's formerly translucent body. Its withered body began to plump up, and moments later, it floated softly into Harold's hand—completely transformed. Its wrinkled, dull surface now looked more like the wrapper of a toffee than a magical creature. Well... close enough in purpose. Mystic-Pattern Chameleon Pouch (Rough-Cut Version)—a highly practical item in the wizarding world. It looked like a small pouch on the outside, but it could store a surprising amount thanks to its innate dimensional properties. This very feature would later inspire the invention of the famous Undetectable Extension Charm. This was only a rough preparation—it could store objects, but that was it. If one could find a skilled alchemist, they could enhance it to respond only to its owner's magical signature. At that point, it would become a personal vault with security second only to Gringotts itself. Then again, just as Gringotts could be breached, a Mystic-Pattern Chameleon pouch could be forcibly ripped open. It all depended on the alchemist's skill. At the moment, Harold didn't know any good alchemists. Nor did he need one. As long as the pouch could hold things, that was good enough. He already carried too many wands, and likely would carry even more in the future. He couldn't just stuff them all in his pockets—retrieving them would be a pain, and he'd jingle with every step. But with a Mystic-Pattern Chameleon pouch, that problem vanished. Harold hooked the freshly made pouch onto his belt, then lifted the troll wand from his desk and dropped it inside. No resistance whatsoever. The two-foot wand slipped effortlessly into a pouch no larger than his fist. When Harold tested the weight, it felt considerably lighter too. Excellent. He tossed in the rest of his wands, keeping only Silvermane at his side. The weight didn't drop much, but it still felt far more manageable. Even retrieval was easy—the pouch shrank to fit his hand inside, and once Harold memorized the wand positions, he could switch wands in an instant. After practicing all morning, Harold had already mastered the technique: a swipe of the hand over the pouch and—click—a new wand in hand. If only the pouch had a more convenient form—something worn on the wrist, maybe. He glanced instinctively at the bamboo ring sitting on the desk nearby. It was a phoenix-tail bamboo wand shaft he'd prepared for the Mystic-Pattern Chameleon—his grandfather Garrick believed that bamboo was the most compatible wood for Transfiguration spells. If the chameleon's innate ability could be preserved in a wand, Harold could potentially wear it like a wrist wand. But after debating all night, he decided against it—for now. Wand behavior was unpredictable. Without absolute certainty, Harold wasn't about to risk wasting the material. This was also why he hadn't contacted an alchemist. Raw mandrake sap wouldn't interfere with the chameleon's use as a wand core—but alchemically processed materials might. The next day, Harold went out and bought a roll of magical adhesive tape. Under his grandfather's curious gaze, he carefully affixed the Mystic-Pattern Chameleon pouch inside the wide sleeve of his school robe. "Is that really necessary?" the old wandmaker frowned. "You're about to start school—do you think you'll actually run into danger?" "You never know," Harold said, flexing his arm. The tape was holding up nicely. "But you barely use the other wands." "For now," Harold said with a grin. "Who knows what I might need later." "I've been meaning to ask—did you really find that Mystic-Pattern Chameleon?" "Of course," Harold replied. "It's not like someone just gave me something that valuable." "I still find it hard to believe," Garrick muttered. "I've lived in Diagon Alley for decades and never stumbled upon a Mystic-Pattern Chameleon—or even a single silver Sick—on the ground." "Relax, I really did find it in Knockturn Alley," Harold said casually. "With the Ministry cracking down on dark artifacts lately, a bunch of pure-bloods have been selling things off. Probably dropped it by accident." "What if they come looking for it?" "No one will," Harold said without hesitation. Unless those six were all Horcruxes, he added silently. Garrick, however, misunderstood. He assumed Harold meant that no pure-blood wizard would admit to having been in Knockturn Alley in the first place. "Well, whatever. School's starting soon anyway." Garrick sighed and set a paper-wrapped parcel on the table. "Here's what you asked for—it came about an hour ago." Harold eagerly tore it open. Inside were a dozen uneven lengths of dragonblood wood. "Why'd you ask me to order these, anyway?" "To make wands, obviously. Not to burn in the fireplace," Harold said. He held one piece up, examining the grain at the cut. Looked over fifty years old. The rest weren't bad either—no cheap substitutions. "But dragonblood wood isn't great wand wood," Garrick frowned. "It's too... volatile. In battle, it tends to react independently, sometimes opposing the caster. That's a fatal flaw in a wand." "Or a strength," Harold countered. He pulled out a book—The Magical Pairings of Potions and Wands—and flipped to a marked page. "It says here: under certain conditions, the wand shaft can guide the core's magical alignment." "No—it suppresses it," Garrick corrected instantly. "Not always," Harold said. "Like unicorn hair—it naturally favors healing magic. Dragon heartstring excels at fire. A shaft can't suppress those preferences." "But that means a wand with dragon heartstring can only cast fire spells. Isn't that a failure?" "Yes... and no," Harold said, smiling as he lifted his arm and glanced at the pouch snug against his wrist. "Not for me." ...(End of Chapter)