[Fir Wood, Wizard Hair, Eleven and Three-Quarters Inches]
[Status: Perfect]
[Properties: Transfiguration 10 (50)%
Camouflage: Animagus Transfiguration Success Rate 30%]
Harold gazed at the result of an all-nighter with shining eyes.
Ollivander's wand shop had thousands of wands, but he'd only ever seen one that could directly increase the success rate of Animagus transformation—and it was this one. Only this one.
His grandfather had never made one like it. Even his great-grandmother, who had once used kelpie mane as a core, had never crafted a wand with properties related to Animagus magic.
Maybe soone else had, but among the 377 wands in the shop's inventory, there definitely wasn't one. Harold would've rembered. After all, Animagus—the pinnacle of living transfiguration—was legendary. It was impossible for him to have missed it.
And a straight 30% boost to success rate? That was unheard of.
It was already a huge bonus. Most new wands only gave a positive modifier of 5% to 10%.
Even Professor McGonagall, fad for decades and carrying the "Master of Transfiguration" trait, only had a 30% herself.
Besides, Animagus transformation wasn't just so ordinary spell.
In all of Britain's roughly three thousand registered wizards, only seven were officially recorded as Animagi. Even counting the unregistered ones, the total probably didn't exceed twenty.
Boosting sothing that rare and advanced—that's the weight of being a master of transfiguration.
The more Harold looked at the wand, the more he liked it. He gave a wave, and the quill on the table transford instantly into a gleaming silver needle.
Harold frowned slightly.
Sothing about the casting felt… off. Like a stiffness. An unfamiliar drag.
It was a new sensation—one he'd never encountered before.
Likely a side effect of using wizard hair as the core.
He looked again at the wand's secondary trait.
Transfiguration 10 (50)%
It was his first ti seeing this format, but the aning was obvious.
Anyone else—including Harold as the wandmaker—would get the base 10% boost. But if McGonagall used it, she'd get the full 50%.
In other words, only in her hands would the wand reach its full potential.
…Well, it was made with her hair.
Harold hesitated for a mont, then decided to keep the wand for now. He wasn't going to give it to McGonagall just yet.
Because this Animagus-related property was too rare. He had no idea if he'd ever see another wand like this again.
Sure, he was only a first-year, and his knowledge of Transfiguration was still rudintary. No matter how good the wand was, he couldn't possibly master Animagus magic right away.
But he could start learning.
As a wandmaker who wasn't particularly good at fighting, Animagus was the kind of life-saving magic he'd definitely need—preferably before Voldemort ca back.
Until now, Harold hadn't had much confidence. After all, Animagus was the holy grail of transfiguration. But with this wand, it suddenly seed more possible.
If he just focused a little harder on Transfiguration, maybe—just maybe—he could master it before Voldemort returned. Maybe even this year—
Okay. Calm down. That's a bit much.
Harold slapped himself gently, trying to snap out of the fantasy.
Becoming an Animagus wasn't just about saying the right spell. Solid foundational knowledge in Transfiguration was a must.
It was like trying to win the Quidditch World Cup—you had to learn the rules and know how to ride a broom first.
This wasn't sothing a first-year could just pull off.
Besides, Harold had plenty of other things to do. He couldn't pour all his focus into Transfiguration alone.
As for McGonagall… well, he still had one of her hairs left. Worst case, he'd just make another wand.
She was already an accomplished Animagus. She didn't need magical assistance.
Decision made, Harold stood up and rubbed his forehead to clear his head before leaving the dormitory.
The common room was still lively.
Fred and George were, as always, pushing their prank products and a new batch of Quick-Excuse Candies.
Harold, with obvious sleep-deprivation written on his face, was naturally a pri target.
"Co on, give it a go—Toffee Toothbombs," Fred said, holding up a box filled with brown toffees.
"Instant results—guaranteed to get you out of any boring classroom."
"Straight back to your dorm."
"Catch up on so sleep."
"Or sneak off wherever you want."
The twins pitched their product in perfect sync.
"No thanks," Harold said, shaking his head. "Our first class is History of Magic."
"Well, in that case, yeah, you don't need it," Fred said, a little disappointed as he tucked the box away.
Professor Binns taught History of Magic. He was a ghost who had taught at Hogwarts for many years. He'd once fallen asleep in the staff room and gone to class the next day—forgetting to bring his body.
But that didn't stop him from teaching. He beca Hogwarts' only ghost professor and continued his lectures as if nothing had changed.
Honestly, the Hogwarts Board of Governors had to be monsters—to squeeze labor out of a literal ghost.
No breaks, no als, no pay… If there were a teacher performance ranking, Binns would be undefeated champion.
Unfortunately, due to the limits of being a ghost, the quality of his classes had dropped considerably. Having lost his body—and his brain—he now simply read the textbook aloud and ignored everything else.
Students could sleep, chat, even play Wizard's Chess—as long as they weren't too loud, he didn't care.
As a result, History of Magic had the lowest truancy rate of any subject.
The freedom in that class was so high, there was no point skipping it. And getting caught skipping by another professor would be far worse.
For a student like Harold, who just wanted a nap, it was the perfect class.
"I'm thinking of heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. Still got ti?" he asked offhandedly.
"Sure, if you don't mind being late," Fred said. "Oh—and you totally missed the best thing this morning."
"What?" Harold checked the ti.
Ten minutes to class. If he left for the Hall now, he'd definitely be late—unless every staircase was perfectly aligned.
Which was unlikely. The staircases loved ssing with first-years.
"A Nimbus 2000!" George chid in, eyes gleaming. "Can you believe it? Soone sent Harry Potter the latest model broomstick!"
"And Wood told us he's going to be Gryffindor's new Seeker."
"McGonagall said he's the most talented Seeker she's ever seen!"
"This is Gryffindor's best shot in years—we're taking the Cup!"
As the twins fired each other up, Harold took a discreet step back and quietly slipped away toward the classroom.
He truly didn't understand these Quidditch-obsessed players. What was so exciting about riding a piece of wood?
Now, if soone added a wand core to that broomstick… then it might get interesting.
Or even better—if the rules allowed magic use in the air…
(End of Chapter)
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