Harold had spent all of last night deliberating: should the troll spine be used as the wand's core—or the wand's body?
There was precedent in magical history for wands made of bone. There had even been wands crafted from stone, metal, crystal, mithril—even gold.
Back then, the magical world was chaotic, and wands were customized based on individual need and power.
Then came the era of King Arthur.
The legendary Merlin took his vast, ocean-like magical knowledge and organized it, teaching it to Arthur's knights and allowing them to pass it on to their own students. That was when magic truly began to be passed down systematically. And thanks to Arthur's influence, this structured magic became the dominant tradition.
Even wand-making changed because of it. Merlin's own wand was made of wood. As structured magic spread, those bizarre, eccentric wands faded out of existence.
All of this had been documented in the Ollivander family records. If Harold wanted to, he could easily dig up the information on bone-based wand bodies. Making the spinal cord the core and using bone as the shaft would've been much easier.
But ultimately, he decided against it.
Mainly because—well, the look.
Wielding a spinal column in battle was downright grotesque. No matter what he claimed, anyone who saw it would think he was a dark wizard. Harold wasn't interested in becoming a full-time Auror surveillance target.
Besides, making a wand core from the troll spine would be difficult, sure—but not impossible.
Worst case? Just spend more time on it.
Like now, when other students were off watching the Quidditch match—Harold was hard at work, tapping and muttering spells around the massive troll spine.
Hagrid, on the other hand, was in a bit of a dilemma.
On one hand, he wanted to keep an eye on Harold, who looked every bit like a dark wizard in the middle of some ancient ritual.
On the other hand, he really wanted to watch Harry's first Quidditch match and cheer him on.
Hagrid tried to do both—standing around, torn—but after five minutes, loud cheers erupted from the pitch.
That sealed it.
He chose to trust Harold and ran off to support Harry.
Even if the idea of using a five-foot-long troll spine as a wand core sounded utterly ridiculous… Hagrid decided to believe in him.
Besides, Harold's work was—frankly—boring. For nearly two hours, he'd been repeating the same spells and taps. Hagrid was falling asleep on his feet.
Better to go enjoy the game.
When Hagrid finally reached the Quidditch pitch, Harry was already in a steep dive.
Then—before he could even find a seat—Harry pulled up, fist raised, with a small golden glint in his palm.
"I've caught the Snitch!" Harry shouted, waving it above his head.
"Oh no…" Hagrid groaned in his head. He had literally just arrived. Didn't even get to see a single play—and the match was over!
Still, he joined the cheers. First match ever, and Harry caught the Snitch? That kid was born to fly.
The stands emptied as the crowd headed back toward the castle.
Hagrid returned to his hut, eyes still sparkling from the excitement.
"You missed a great game, Harold," he said. "Gryffindor won! Harry caught the Snitch!"
"Really? What a shame," Harold said without turning around, his voice completely flat.
Not even a flicker of regret.
Quidditch just wasn't interesting to him—at least not until someone figured out how to embed wand cores in broomsticks.
"Wait a second…"
Hagrid frowned, walking over to the fireplace.
Was it his imagination, or… had the spine gotten smaller?
Yesterday it was five feet long and as thick as a bowl. Now? Four feet, and no wider than a teacup.
"You got a different one?" Hagrid asked suspiciously.
"Where would I even get another?" Harold said with a crooked smile.
If he had access to more, would he be up working on a Saturday morning instead of sleeping in?
"Then what happened here?"
"Necessary processing," Harold replied calmly. "I just want to test the material's potential as a wand core. It's not like I'm actually making a wand for a giant."
Because that? That would get him thrown in Azkaban.
It was a hard line in the law: under the Wizarding Statute, creatures like centaurs, giants, merfolk, goblins, and house-elves were strictly forbidden from possessing or using wands. Giving them one was a serious crime.
Harold had no interest in becoming an enemy of the Ministry. Not yet, anyway.
Hagrid leaned closer, studying the spine more carefully. There were no cuts or tool marks. It hadn't been trimmed or shaved down. It had… shrunk. Perfectly proportionally.
"How'd you even do that?" he asked.
"Just a little trick," Harold said, rubbing his wrist.
"Ohhh," Hagrid murmured, eyes wide. "That must be an Ollivander thing, right? Incredible."
"More or less," Harold said, not bothering to explain.
In truth, the standard Ollivander wand-making techniques could never handle a core this large. This was his own special gift—something unique to him.
If anyone asked, he'd just call it… wand-core magnus? Sounded fancy enough to pass.
Still, technically, he was an Ollivander. So Hagrid wasn't wrong.
"What're you gonna do next?" Hagrid asked, pouring a cup of his strange pine-needle tea. "Keep shrinking it?"
"I need a break first," Harold admitted, sipping the odd-tasting tea.
He didn't have the magical reserves or stamina to do the whole process in one go.
Which was fine. He could work on the wand body in the meantime.
Harold turned to the workbench. An hour ago, Hagrid had returned with the troll's wooden club and set it there.
Now Harold picked it up, trying to move it somewhere easier to work.
Unfortunately, on the first try, it didn't budge.
Second try, he turned red in the face—but the club just wobbled a little.
"Need help?" Hagrid asked, walking over after setting a pot on the stove.
"No, no." Harold waved him off, trying to play it cool. "I was just… inspecting the material. This troll actually had good taste—picked oak."
"Really?"
"Of course. I'm a wandmaker." Harold pulled out his wand.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The club lifted off the bench and dropped in front of him with a dull thud.
Harold smirked. Magic was much more efficient.
Knock knock…
A sudden knock at the door interrupted them.
"Hagrid, you home? We came to see you!"
(End of Chapter)