Harold had indeed promised to help Hagrid fix something—his wand.
Of course, this was not the kind of thing anyone else could know about. Especially not Harry or Ron.
In a way, those two were actually like Hagrid—tight-lipped and trustworthy when it came to keeping secrets.
They just each had one fatal flaw.
Hagrid had a tendency to let things slip accidentally, while Harry and Ron… well, they had a habit of discussing "secrets" at full volume without checking who might be nearby.
The next day was the first weekend break since the start of term at Hogwarts.
Early Saturday morning, Harold left the castle and headed alone toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid's wooden hut was hard to miss—visible at a glance.
When Harold got there, the front door was shut tight, and the windows were completely covered—no gaps at all.
"We agreed to meet today… is he not home?" Harold wondered, knocking on the door.
By the second knock, it creaked open just a sliver.
"Keep it down, Harold—quiet…"
Hagrid peered through the gap, eyes nervously scanning the direction of the castle.
"Get in, quick!"
He stepped aside, and as soon as Harold squeezed through, he shut the door behind him.
"No one saw you, right?"
"Nope," Harold replied. "But I think you're overdoing it. Acting this nervous will just draw attention."
"Maybe you're right…" Hagrid rubbed his hands together. "But I can't help it. I'm too wound up. I even sent Fang into the forest."
"Fang?"
"My dog."
"So… you think your dog might reveal the secret that you're illegally carrying a wand?"
"Oh, keep your voice down!" Hagrid hissed, pulling back the curtain to peek outside.
"Alright, alright." Harold didn't push it. He just extended his hand. "Now give me your wand. I need to take a look."
Hagrid nodded and pulled a pink umbrella from an inner coat pocket.
Honestly, the disguise was laughably lazy. It was one of those little umbrellas—Harold thought it was small even for him, let alone for Hagrid, who was eleven feet tall.
It probably only covered his head at best.
If Hagrid didn't spend most of his time in the forest, someone would've noticed long ago.
Whatever. It's not like he was using it for actual rain anyway.
Harold took the umbrella and casually removed the canopy and handle.
Sixteen inches. The longest wand Harold had seen so far. And with the rough outer layer of willow wood slapped on top, it came to a full twenty inches.
"Harold, how's it look—hey, what are you doing?!"
Before Hagrid could finish his sentence, Harold had already rubbed the wand's surface firmly.
A layer of wood flaked away like shed skin from a fire salamander, crumbling into dust and revealing the battered wand beneath.
The sixteen-inch wand was covered in cobweb-like cracks—some deep enough to expose the red phoenix feather inside.
Harold ignored Hagrid's distress and lifted the wand to examine it closely.
"Who repaired this?"
"I can't say." Hagrid shook his head. "Don't ask—I won't tell you."
"Alright, no big deal." Harold wasn't bothered. "But I can tell whoever did it must be a powerful wizard."
"Of course! Dumbledore's the most powerful—"
Hagrid froze mid-sentence, horror washing over his face.
"I shouldn't have said that! I betrayed Dumbledore! He fixed my wand and I just sold him out!"
"Calm down, Hagrid." Harold rubbed his ear. "You think I'm going to report you? Don't forget, I'm literally fixing your wand right now."
"I… I didn't mean it like that."
"I know." Harold laid the wand flat in front of him. "Actually, I was wrong. It doesn't need a full repair."
"Huh?"
"Look at this." Harold carefully pried at a splinter of oak, trying to pull it loose.
But several hair-thin threads held the fragment tightly to the rest of the wand.
"I've never seen a restoration charm this strong," Harold murmured. "This kind of damage isn't something magic should be able to fix… and yet here it is, holding everything together. It's incredible."
"That's Dumbledore for you," Hagrid said proudly.
Harold didn't respond, but deep down, his desire to examine the Elder Wand only grew.
If he remembered correctly, Hagrid's wand had been snapped in half fifty years ago. For it to still hold together this well... it defied all logic.
"So, are you still going to fix it? It kind of works the way it is."
"Of course I'm fixing it," Hagrid said quickly.
Sure, it worked—but the cracks drove him crazy. He didn't even dare use it too forcefully, afraid it might snap again.
"Alright." Harold nodded, drawing a wand of his own and muttering a long, intricate incantation.
The chant took nearly thirty seconds from start to finish.
Hagrid watched as his wand seemed to shed like a molting lizard. A thin layer peeled off, and the wand instantly became slimmer.
Then another layer.
Finally, only the bright red phoenix feather remained.
Hagrid made a soft, distressed whimper, then quickly clamped a hand over his mouth for fear of disturbing Harold.
He didn't need to worry. Once Harold was working, small sounds wouldn't break his focus.
Harold picked up the outermost layer of the wand.
The engraved runes were all misaligned—no wonder the wand had cracked so badly. Only Dumbledore's absurdly strong repair magic had kept it from disintegrating completely.
Still, it made Harold's job easier—no need for puzzles.
He opened his leather pouch and took out a silver carving knife, several pieces of wood, and a jar of wand adhesive that looked like thick pine resin.
He'd decided long ago to help Hagrid with this, so everything was prepped in advance.
He began by carefully gluing the pieces back together, checking each one's placement. Once he confirmed their alignment, he started enlarging the corresponding runes one by one.
The process, in simple terms, wasn't too complex: overlay the original misaligned carvings with new, correctly-sized ones to restore the wand's integrity.
It was just tedious and required precision. No room for mistakes. The kind of delicate work that demanded time and patience.
Anywhere else, Harold or even Ollivander himself would've told the owner to just get a new wand—cheaper and easier than a full repair.
But not this time.
Because Hagrid couldn't go buy a new wand. And Ollivander wouldn't sell him one anyway.
Harold could offer him one—but he didn't have any oversized wands in his inventory. Nothing Hagrid could realistically use.
So they'd take it slow.
It was the weekend, after all—and Harold had nowhere else to be.
(End of Chapter)