The two returned to the workshop, where Wyzett selected a new wand: oak, with a dragon heartstring core, thirteen and three-quarter inches long, impressively supple.
The wand fit comfortably in his hand, its grip reminiscent of his previous wand, though just a touch larger. Its shape was reminiscent of a three-edged bayonet—stark and unadorned, radiating a cold, resolute aura.
That afternoon, just as Wyzett was about to toss a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace for a trip to Diagon Alley, unexpected visitors arrived.
A middle-aged man stood at the door, and beside him was Harry Potter.
"Hi, Wyzett!"
Harry's face was lit with unrestrained joy. The moment the door opened, his brilliant smile burst forth—a look that could only mean one thing: he'd finally escaped misery.
"Good afternoon, Harry," Wyzett replied with a nod, glancing at the man next to him.
Strictly speaking, this was Wyzett's first meeting with Arthur Weasley.
Arthur was somewhat thin, his red hair already receding, and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.
"Wyzett Lovegood, it's a pleasure to meet you!" He shook Wyzett's hand warmly. "If not for your warning, I wouldn't have known what was really going on..."
Arthur was already aware of some of the trouble surrounding Harry.
A few days ago, Harry had broken the rules by performing magic in front of Muggles. Since it was his first offense, the Ministry of Magic had merely sent a warning letter by owl, taking no further action.
But with what Ron had mentioned, Arthur suspected Harry might be in real trouble. Taking advantage of his holiday, he rushed to Little Whinging, where he learned the whole story from Harry's Uncle Vernon.
On the night Harry supposedly broke the law, Vernon had been in the middle of an important business deal when a sudden owl ruined everything—along with the revelation that Harry wasn't allowed to use magic outside school.
Enraged, Vernon locked Harry in his bedroom and threatened to keep him there indefinitely. From the letter, he'd learned that if Harry performed magic again, he'd be expelled from Hogwarts.
On the way to Harry's room, Vernon kept badgering Arthur for confirmation—was this really true?
But the punishment didn't stop at simply locking Harry up. Vernon also restricted his food, sending up only the barest minimum each day.
"It really was dangerous," Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "They kept Harry locked up for nearly five days."
"When I finally flashed my Ministry credentials and got to see him, I was honestly shocked. His face was the color of turmeric cake—almost no blood left in it."
Harry nodded vigorously, the memory still fresh and unsettling.
As Head of the Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, Arthur had dealt with plenty of Muggles. He didn't always understand their ways, but he knew what men like Vernon feared.
"I wanted to be friendly…" Arthur recalled, "but seeing Harry half-starved, I couldn't keep my temper in check…"
"Mr. Dursley really shouldn't have… punished Harry like that. Both sides needed to calm down… Anyway, I brought Harry here."
Looking back, Arthur admitted, "Maybe I should've tried to talk things out instead of just taking him away. But honestly, it all happened so fast…"
"They were probably thrilled to get rid of me for the next couple weeks," Harry said with a shrug. "Besides, I wasn't even the one who cast the spell—I was framed."
"Right, I still need to stop by and see Amos later." Arthur nodded, lifting the basket in his hand.
"Wyzett, this is Yorkshire pudding from Molly. She wanted to thank you for talking some sense into Ron and the others."
Arriving at Diagon Alley, Wyzett passed by Flourish and Blotts, where shop assistants were waving their wands, hanging an enormous banner.
The banner read: "Author of Magical Me—Gilderoy Lockhart—will soon appear at Flourish and Blotts for a signing of his autobiography. Stay tuned!"
Gilderoy Lockhart was a Hogwarts alumnus, formerly of Ravenclaw House.
Last year, Wyzett had occasionally heard about him from Penelope and Cho Chang.
Despite his youth, Lockhart had racked up an impressive array of honorary titles. With his golden hair and dazzling blue eyes, he was especially popular among witches—middle-aged witches in particular.
He'd published a slew of books, most of them dealing with Dark Magic.
Wyzett usually focused on academic texts at Flourish and Blotts, and hadn't yet read any of Lockhart's works.
In the fan videos he'd seen in his previous life, there wasn't much about Lockhart. All he could recall was a vague scene: a disheveled Lockhart wielding his wand and attempting a Memory Charm.
But the spell had backfired—his wand misfiring in spectacular fashion. Instead of erasing someone else's memory, Lockhart had blasted himself into the ceiling.
Stepping into the main floor of Ollivanders, Ollivander was already waiting for him.
Once they reached the workshop, Ollivander spoke first. "Wyzett, have you ever thought about how one actually crafts a wand?"
Wyzett thought for a moment. "If I go by your notes, it's mostly about combining different materials—cutting the magical wood, inserting the core, then sealing it all up… something like that."
"But I noticed the cauldron here this morning, so I figured potions must play a role too."
"I haven't seen any seams on finished wands, so I suspect that potions act as a magical adhesive during the process."
Ollivander clapped his hands, beaming. "Exactly right! Potions are a vital part of the wandmaking process."
He moved to the workbench, preparing a set of crystal cups filled with various liquids.
In one long cup, two pieces of magical wood were soaking.
"This is a wand I'm halfway through making," Ollivander explained. "I'll finish it now, and you can watch how it's done."
"All right," Wyzett agreed, automatically reaching for his notebook.
He paused, a thought striking him. "Mr. Ollivander… is it all right if I record this process?"
"I'm afraid not…" Ollivander shook his head. "The secrets of wandmaking are protected by magical contract. No matter how you try, you can't write them down."
"Every generation of Ollivander wandmakers passes down the craft by word of mouth alone… But for someone with the Oculus Magicae, the contract makes an exception."
"Understood. I'm honored to witness the process firsthand." Wyzett activated his Oculus Magicae, focusing intently.
"And I'm honored to meet a wizard with the Oculus Magicae." Ollivander smiled, then picked up a pair of pure gold tweezers and carefully removed the soaked magical wood…
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