It was obvious that Harry really liked the Firebolt. He'd seriously considered whether he should just empty his Gringotts vault and buy the best broomstick ever—even though he still had five years left at Hogwarts.
Although the idea was quickly dismissed as ridiculous, the fact that he had even hesitated between "buying the Firebolt" and "clearing out the vault and begging the Dursleys for money to buy school supplies" showed just how tempted he had been.
In the end, Harry didn't buy it—but Harold did… though not the Firebolt. That was far too expensive. Instead, Harold bought an old Cot 260.
The shop assistant spent quite a while digging through the storage room before finally dragging out the forty-year-old antique.
It cost exactly forty Galleons—just a bit more than a second-hand broomstick.
But this one was brand-new, and in terms of performance and quality, it was far better than a used broom. That alone more than made up for the price.
Harry was puzzled. He didn't understand why Harold would buy such an outdated broomstick.
"You could've just spent twenty more Galleons and gotten a better one—like a Cleansweep Seven or even a Nimbus 2000," he said. "If you're short on money, I can lend you so. Trust —good brooms really are different. They're faster, more responsive, everything."
"I know," Harold replied, shouldering the Cot 260 with a smile. "But I don't play Quidditch. I don't need all that speed or maneuverability. This one's good enough for ."
"Well… alright, then," Harry said, seeing Harold wasn't going to budge.
And Harold really did an it. The broomstick was just a tool for him—nothing more. It helped him travel more efficiently, like when he'd gone looking for the Bloody Baron. That broom had saved him a ton of walking and helped him cross a river with no fuss.
And if he was going to travel like his grandfather Garrick—hunting for wand materials—he couldn't borrow a broom every ti.
Besides, this old relic only cost forty Galleons. Not too pricey. Even if it broke later, it wouldn't be too heartbreaking.
… Chapters first released on NoveI★Fire
anwhile, Harry couldn't stop thinking about the Firebolt. After that first visit, he went to the shop nearly every day just to see it again.
Because of that, he didn't drop by the wand shop as often, which gave Harold a few rare days of peace and quiet.
Sotis, living too close to a friend with too much to share wasn't necessarily a good thing—especially when Harold had sothing much more important to focus on.
Before he knew it, mid-August had arrived, and Harold was growing increasingly anxious.
He still rembered the letter Professor McGonagall had written him, saying that near the end of August, there might be a storm—and when that happened, the Animagus potion he'd prepared would fully transform, and he had to be ready.
Harold had been confident at first. But now that the ti was drawing near, he found himself losing faith.
Starting in the second week of August, Harold pulled out all of his books on Transfiguration and began reviewing them.
Of course, he had already read them all countless tis. Every page was filled with his annotations and notes.
By the third week, he couldn't stand to look at them anymore.
Still, he couldn't shake the nerves. The thing he did most often now was glance up at the sky. Every morning when he woke up, the first thing he did was open the window and check the weather.
And every ti he saw clear skies, he couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.
Another week passed. The skies stayed completely clear. Not a single sign of the promised storm.
"Harold, why do you keep staring at the sky? Looking for owls?" Garrick finally asked. "Is soone writing to you lately?"
"No, no… not that." Harold shook his head. "I'm just… checking the weather."
He didn't want Garrick to worry, so he kept the truth to himself.
Garrick knew Harold was studying Animagus transformations—but he didn't know Harold was about to attempt his first transformation soon.
"This can't go on." Back in his room, Harold rubbed his temples.
He knew that if the storm ca, Professor McGonagall would contact him right away. There was no point in worrying himself sick now.
Besides, his neck was starting to get sore from looking up all the ti.
He needed a distraction.
After so thought, Harold dismantled his new Cot 260.
He'd had the idea a long ti ago—to turn a broomstick into a giant wand so Quidditch players could cast spells during matches.
He'd just never gotten around to it.
Ideally, it would be better to experint on a second-hand broom first, but Harold desperately needed to take his mind off things, so he didn't overthink it.
Thanks to his experience tinkering with school brooms, he quickly reduced the Cot 260 to a neat pile of components.
Another reason he chose this model: newer brooms had built-in magic, like anti-shock charms carved into the handle. Trying to overlay wand enchantnts on top of those would definitely create conflicts.
Older brooms didn't have that issue. School brooms like the Cot 140 or Cleansweep Five were all solid wood with no fancy enchantnts.
His Cot 260 was the sa. The magical core was hidden where the handle t the tail twigs.
Harold carefully removed it and set it aside. Then, with a quiet incantation, he split the broomstick handle vertically down the middle.
And here ca the first problem: how to carve the runes.
A broom handle was much bigger than a wand. Even the largest wand Harold had ever made—the troll wand—had only been two and a half feet long.
This broomstick? Closer to five feet. Twice as long.
His usual rune sequences wouldn't be enough—he'd have to add more.
But which ones? And how should he layer them?
These were the questions he now needed to answer.
He could've just asked his grandfather, who surely knew what to do.
But Garrick was busy helping first-years pick wands. And Harold's real goal was just to take his mind off the looming Animagus transformation. So he didn't ask. He just locked himself in his room and started researching.
This was one way he and Garrick were very alike—once they got into wandwork, they beca completely absorbed.
This ti was no different. Harold buried himself in piles of rune formulas and forgot all about his Animagus worries.
Until one day, Harry ca to find him again.
But this ti, he wasn't alone—he brought Hermione and Ron along.
The three of them waited nearly half an hour in the wand shop before Harold finally erged from his room—because Garrick had insisted on dragging him out.
"School starts tomorrow. You haven't bought any supplies yet. What, planning to just show up at Hogwarts with nothing?"
"Huh? I haven't?" Harold blinked.
"Doesn't look like it," Harry said. "I ca by last week to see if you wanted to shop, but you were holed up in your room and wouldn't co out."
"Sorry—I didn't know. I've been buried in rune formulas for days." Harold folded a parchnt in half and stuffed it into his robe pocket.
"Wait…" Suddenly, sothing clicked in his mind. "When do we go back to school?"
"Tomorrow," said Harry. "Why?"
Harold didn't answer. He dashed out the door and looked up at the sky.
Clear blue. The sun was so bright he had to squint and shield his eyes.
Wasn't there supposed to be a storm by the end of August? This was the end of August, wasn't it? Where was the storm?
Had he sohow missed it while working on the broomstick?
"Did Professor McGonagall co by recently?" he asked.
"Minerva? Why would she co see you?" Garrick asked, confused.
So no—she hadn't co. That ant Harold hadn't missed anything. "And my mail? Has anyone written to ?"
"All here." Garrick pointed to a small pile of letters and packages. "The owls couldn't get into your room, so they left them here."
Harold quickly sorted through them.
One from Neville, one from Fred and George, and one from Hermione…
"That one's mine," Hermione mumbled. "I've been waiting for a reply all week. Didn't think you'd just ignore it."
"Sorry, I've been a little… distracted," Harold replied.
"I can see that," Hermione said, eyeing his unkempt hair with a sigh.
The last one was from Hagrid, along with a big package.
Still no letter from Professor McGonagall. Harold let out a small breath of relief.
So it wasn't that he missed it—just that the storm hadn't co yet.
That… he could live with.
(End of Chapter)
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