Hermione sat there puzzled, not understanding why Harold cared so much about that form of address.
But seeing how serious he looked, she didn't say anything else, just nodded and replied, "Alright, no problem."
She could be a bit stubborn and self-righteous, but that didn't mean she had zero emotional intelligence... maybe not a lot, but she had some.
If he didn't like it, then she simply wouldn't say it. It was just a title, after all—not exactly complicated. Easy enough.
"So, you're a wandmaker too?" Hermione asked again.
Harold thought for a moment. "I guess you could say I'm halfway there."
Since Hermione would later become one of the trio, Harold didn't mind chatting with her a bit more. Besides, the train ride was too bumpy—trying to read while being jolted around was unbearable.
Even Tom, who usually didn't mind his surroundings, couldn't take it anymore. He squeezed out from between the suitcases and flopped onto the table, looking dizzy.
Harold picked him up and gently stroked his fur as he continued, "Strictly speaking, I'm still an apprentice. I can only call myself a wandmaker after officially selling ten wands."
"How many have you sold so far?" Hermione asked, though her eyes kept drifting toward the cat in Harold's arms.
No wonder he used a cat as an example earlier.
And she hadn't expected Harold's pet to be just an ordinary stray-looking cat.
So ordinary it could've been mistaken for a feral alley cat.
Hermione had rarely seen anyone keep such a cat. Most of the people she knew preferred prettier, purebred ones.
Like British Shorthairs or Persians.
Harold's family made wands, so they must be pretty well-off, right?
So, was this just a personal preference?
Of course, she would never actually ask those questions—that would be terribly rude.
"If we're talking officially sold, then... one." Harold didn't know what she was thinking. He scratched Tom under the chin and replied offhandedly.
"Oh, that's really not a lot," Hermione blurted out.
"Hmm?" Harold looked at her, wondering if she was smart or just plain dense. "You do realize I'm only eleven, right?"
Eleven years old, hadn't even started magic school, and had already managed to make and sell a complete wand. Did she have any idea how impressive that was?
...Okay, maybe she really didn't.
Seeing the blank look in Hermione's eyes, Harold rubbed his forehead.
He almost forgot—Hermione's parents were Muggles. She'd had no prior exposure to the magical world, so it made sense she wouldn't understand.
As for Neville sitting nearby... forget it, he didn't count.
Seriously... Merlin's pants, he finally had a chance to show off, and it completely fell flat.
Harold was already losing interest in the conversation, but Hermione clearly wasn't ready to let him go.
It was rare to find a wizard willing to talk to her—she had tons of questions.
What about Neville?
He didn't know anything. He didn't count.
Neville: ...
To spark more conversation, Hermione even pulled out her wand.
A beautiful vine wood wand.
Neville, still unsure what was going on, followed suit when he saw Hermione suddenly bring up wands.
Harold glanced over.
[Cherry wood, unicorn hair core, eleven inches]
[Status: Damaged]
[Traits: Rejection — Spell effectiveness -50%, spell success rate -50%, high chance of backfire.]
Harold raised his eyebrows and carefully asked, "This wand... you didn't get it from Ollivander, did you?"
It seemed unlikely, but he felt the need to confirm. If Ollivander had actually sold this to Neville out of greed, Harold would need to do some damage control.
"No, no, I didn't."
Seeing that Harold was talking to him, Neville immediately got nervous.
"Th-this was... my dad's wand," he muttered with his head down.
His voice was soft, and his face turned beet red.
Both Harold and Hermione could see he was uncomfortable with the topic.
So Harold didn't push it further.
As long as it wasn't from their shop, that was good enough.
Still, as a wandmaker, he felt obliged to give a little warning.
"I'd recommend getting a wand that's truly yours. This one doesn't suit you at all—it'll be hard to use."
Going to school with a wand like that... was he trying to make an already hard curriculum even harder for himself?
"But it was my dad's wand," Neville said, looking up. This time, he didn't even stutter.
"A wand isn't like clothes or shoes. It's not a Galleon either. It doesn't matter who it belonged to—it's meant for one person only. At least, most wands are," Harold shook his head and patiently explained.
He wasn't making this up.
Fred and George were as alike as twins could be—identical in looks and personality, closer than most siblings, even more so than many fathers and sons.
And yet their wands were different.
Fred's was dogwood, thirteen and three-quarter inches.
George's was beechwood, thirteen and a half inches.
The only thing they shared was the unicorn hair core—everything else was different.
Neville lowered his head, wanting to refute Harold but unsure how.
His grandmother had told him that he needed to be just like his father, to make the Longbottom family proud again. And that meant starting with his father's wand.
Besides, deep down, Neville also wanted to use that wand. It was the only time he felt, even just a little, like his parents were still with him.
His head sank lower and lower, his face hidden, turning red and white by turns.
"Don't say that..." Hermione, overcome with sympathy, couldn't take it anymore and spoke up in Neville's defense.
"It's just a wand. I've never heard of a weapon that couldn't be used by someone else. I think what matters most is learning the spells."
"I've read Spellwork Analysis and Explanation and The Most Popular Spells of the Twentieth Century," Hermione said seriously, looking up at Neville. "They all focus on incantations and wand movements. They don't mention the wand itself at all."
"That's because the authors never imagined anyone would use a wand that was so obviously a bad match..." Harold muttered silently to himself.
Choosing a wand that suits you was already considered common sense in the wizarding world—there was no need to spell it out.
It's like how a Muggle book never starts by telling you that someone with nearsightedness shouldn't use reading glasses to look at it.
Still... seeing the two of them, Harold held back his comments.
One was a new student from a Muggle family, the other let his emotions override reason. Saying anything more would just make him seem cold-hearted.
Once they got to school and experienced magic firsthand, they'd understand just how important a proper wand was to a wizard.
(End of Chapter)