As July marked the start of the holiday season, the wand shop remained closed. Besides the fact that Garrick Ollivander had no time to manage it, there was also the matter that the incoming Hogwarts students hadn't received their admission letters yet.
It would likely be about a month before owls delivered those letters to the new first-years, which would also mark the true reopening of the wand shop.
Garrick Ollivander had stayed in his room for an entire week. During this time, Robert mostly remained in his own room, poring over the dry, technical wand-making books.
After arriving at Hogwarts, he realized how lacking his theoretical foundation was. So naturally, with free time on his hands, he took the opportunity to make up for it.
However, he wasn't reading all the time. Whenever boredom set in, he would head to the Leaky Cauldron to unwind, order a mug of Butterbeer, and listen to the drunken tales of so-called heroic exploits—like riding Swedish Short-Snouts during the Giant Wars.
Whether those wizards had ever actually approached a Swedish Short-Snout, or if they'd been paralyzed with fear at the sight of a Giant—well, that didn't matter. Everyone around them was entertained regardless.
"I knew you wouldn't believe it, but it doesn't matter..." slurred a middle-aged wizard in a worn cowboy hat as he took a large swig of his drink, slumping lazily against the bar counter.
"Because when I stomped on the Giant—hic—stomped right on it... you were all still shivering at the name of the Death Eaters... I won't hold it against you..."
As the stories grew increasingly exaggerated, even becoming accusatory, a wizard in a flowing purple robe could no longer hold his tongue and shouted out:
"John, then tell us—was it Gurg or Golgomath that you 'stepped on'?"
"Yeah, yeah, Gurg!" the cowboy-hatted wizard, John, stammered out confidently.
"Really?" the purple-robed wizard looked stunned at first, then narrowed his eyes. "I don't buy it. Gurg isn't a name—it's a title!"
"You calling me a liar?" John's face flushed bright red. "That Giant was called Gurg, I swear!"
The Leaky Cauldron fell silent for a beat—then erupted into laughter so loud that even the candle flames dancing on the ceiling seemed to flicker in amusement.
People doubled over in mirth while John sat confused, blinking. He had no idea what was so funny.
Eventually, Tom—the bar owner (not the lazy black cat who haunted the Forbidden Forest)—walked over and quietly explained: Gurg was the title given to the leader of the Giants, much like "Headmaster" or "Minister for Magic." It wasn't a personal name.
John's ears immediately turned a fiery red, glowing like charcoal after a Fire Slug's kiss. He tried to stand to defend himself but nearly tripped over his own cloak in the process.
"What do you know!" he blustered drunkenly, slamming the table. "Back then... back then..."
"Back then, you were probably too scared to even leave your house!" someone chimed in.
More than a decade ago, the Dark Lord had rallied the Giants to wreak havoc on the wizarding world. The chaos and destruction they left behind was unforgettable. Anyone who had truly faced those times would definitely know what "Gurg" meant.
"I bet he can't tell a Giant from a Troll—unless Trolls wear cowboy hats too!" another voice added, sparking a new round of laughter so loud that it nearly rattled the ancient sign hanging outside.
Robert watched as John deflated like a defeated Diricawl. The fun seemed to have come to an end. He downed the last of his Butterbeer and stepped into the backyard, exiting through the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley.
As he passed a particular fork in the cobbled road, he came to a halt instinctively.
It was the entrance to Knockturn Alley.
He had ventured there a few times recently, curious to see if he could find good-quality wand core materials at a bargain.
Having lived in Diagon Alley for several years, Robert was known even among the residents of Knockturn Alley. More precisely, they respected Garrick Ollivander and extended that courtesy to Robert.
So long as Robert didn't stray too far in—especially beyond the infamous shop of Borgin and Burkes—he was generally left alone. Even Dumbledore's name held little power in that place, let alone Garrick Ollivander's.
Robert understood this all too well. When he did visit, he remained at the outer edges of Knockturn Alley and never went beyond Borgin and Burkes.
However, something had changed lately.
There were many unfamiliar faces in Knockturn Alley. The usual vendor of dark creature parts had disappeared, replaced by an old witch with moss growing on her teeth who now occupied his stall.
"Forget it, I'll think about it later." For safety's sake, Robert gave up the idea of shopping there and made his way back to the wand shop.
Something felt off.
His grandfather, Garrick Ollivander, was actually standing behind the counter.
"You figured it out already?" Robert asked in surprise.
"Almost."
"Then why are you out here? It's only the first week of the holidays—the new students won't get their letters for a while, right?"
"It's not about the shop," Garrick replied, eyeing Robert. "Are you interested in a trip?"
"A vacation?" Robert shook his head. "Not interested. I'd rather stay and listen to the unofficial tales of the Goblin Rebellions and the Giant Wars in the Leaky Cauldron."
"No, it's not just a casual trip." Garrick paused. "It's a journey to a few special places. Haven't you always wanted to know where the dragon heartstrings, unicorn tail hairs, and wand woods come from?"
"Hmm?" Robert, who was on his way upstairs, stopped and turned around. "Didn't you once say that, by tradition, I could only go after graduating?"
"Under normal circumstances, yes," Garrick nodded. "The reason is simple—we don't want to waste those precious materials on someone who may not be ready. I myself wasn't taken to Romania until after graduating Hogwarts, when your great-grandmother finally deemed me worthy."
"But I think it's different with you..."
Perhaps thinking of the unicorn wand Robert had crafted, Garrick's expression turned oddly complex.
How had he pulled that off...? No, best not to think about it.
Robert watched his grandfather, who was now lightly smacking his own head and muttering, looking thoroughly confused.
Was Garrick really okay?
"I'm fine," Garrick said quickly, as if reading Robert's thoughts. "So, about this trip to Romania..."
"I'm still not interested," Robert shrugged.
A year ago, he might have been eager to tag along. But not now—not to Romania.
Unlike his grandfather, Robert didn't just want dragon heartstrings or nerves.
He wanted an entire dragon heart.
But would the handlers at the Romanian Dragon Reserve ever agree to that?
Of course not.
Whether for Potions or Alchemy, dragon hearts were among the rarest and most valuable magical materials. Even the black market couldn't meet the demand.
Since he'd surely be disappointed by what the Reserve had to offer, Robert figured there was no point in going at all. If he ever needed dragon nerves, he could always ask Garrick.
For more chapters
patreon.com/Robertt45