How did Harry defeat Voldemort?

To be precise, it was because Lily Evans cast an ancient magic on Harry before her death. It acted like a powerful version of the Shield Charm, reflecting the Killing Curse back onto Voldemort.

This ancient magic wasn't triggered by magical power—it was born from pure, selfless love.

When Voldemort attacked Godric's Hollow, Lily had the chance to escape. But she chose to stand in front of Harry's crib, to sacrifice herself to protect him. That intense love activated a very old protective magic.

As a result, Voldemort was destroyed by his own curse, and Harry became the Boy Who Lived.

Thinking about that, Harold looked again at the old book Garrick had shown him, lost in thought.

Pasted inside was a piece of faded, grey-yellow parchment—weathered and ancient. The ink had long since faded, but some distinctive markings could still be seen.

They were runes—typically only found in medieval texts. When translated, they conveyed the same meaning Garrick had explained.

Garrick had mentioned Harry for a reason—was he implying that this "recognition" from wand users was a form of similar magic?

Like the powerful protective spell activated by Lily's love—could sincere recognition of a wand count as a kind of emotional trigger for magic?

The idea that emotion affects magic wasn't unheard of.

Aside from Harry's case, there was another direct example… the Killing Curse.

Not every wizard who knew the incantation and wand movement could cast Avada Kedavra. The most essential ingredient was genuine, murderous intent.

Only when the caster truly wanted their target dead could the curse be successfully performed. The Cruciatus Curse was the same—if a kind-hearted person tried using it, it would barely tickle.

This was the influence of emotion on magic.

So was Harold's increasing skill in wand-making due to more wizards sincerely recognizing his wands?

He rubbed the rough parchment thoughtfully, deep in contemplation.

Why hadn't he noticed it before?

Oh—right. Before this year, he'd rarely made wands for others. Hardly anyone bought them.

Counting Ron and Hagrid, probably fewer than five wizards had ever seriously used one of his wands.

That tiny number wouldn't have made any noticeable difference.

Only starting this year, when turning one's own hair into wand cores became a trend at Hogwarts, Harold's wands had really begun to spread.

Could that be the reason?

He wasn't sure. He'd need to find a way to test the theory once school started again. All he knew for now was—it didn't seem like a bad thing.

He glanced once more at the runes on the tattered parchment. Then he flipped the page to see if there was more, but found only a medieval tale about knights and wizards.

Most of the book was filled with stories like that. The rune page stuck out awkwardly—completely disconnected from the rest of the text.

Of course, that was Harold's impression now. If he'd read the book before today, he might've dismissed the rune page as just another curious anecdote.

He closed the book and headed back downstairs to the wand shop.

Garrick was adjusting the Christmas tree by the door.

It was Christmas, after all. Even if no customers came, the shop still needed decorations. All the other stores had trees—leaving that space empty would have felt odd.

The tree had gift boxes hanging from its branches. Passersby could take them—inside were stickers, wand polish kits, and other small goodies.

Not many people took one, though. Everyone clearly preferred the gifts from the pet store or the Quidditch supply shop.

Harold returned the book to Garrick without saying anything. Garrick didn't ask either. He quietly put the book back in the storeroom.

"Cheer up," Garrick said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Isn't this a wonderful Christmas gift? To truly feel people's appreciation and love for your wands—that's an irresistible reward for any wandmaker.

"If this really is a form of magic, I'd happily devote my life to studying it."

"Yeah… when you put it that way, it really is a great gift." Harold smiled faintly. "I just… think it's kind of magical."

"But magic is magical, isn't it?" Garrick chuckled, winking. "Now hurry up and open your presents. Christmas won't last forever!"

That was when Harold remembered—he hadn't opened any of his gifts yet.

This year, the owls had delivered everything to Diagon Alley, and the presents were stacked beside his bed.

Having just come downstairs, Harold now rushed back up and started tearing open wrapping paper.

Hagrid's gift, as usual, was simple and hearty: a big bag of various magical materials, a tin of round cookies, some roasted nuts, and a pouch of homemade toffee.

Hermione had sent him a book—The Witch's Wand. Harold flipped through it and realized it was a Muggle book, completely unrelated to real magic. But it was still an amusing read.

Ron gave him a brand-new wizard chess set.

Neville sent him a cactus—one that retracted its spines whenever a hand got close. It made a perfect decoration.

And Harry's gift was a small box. When Harold shook it, it jingled with a familiar chime.

"Don't tell me…" Harold opened it—and sure enough, it was filled with Galleons.

So this was Harry's version of prophecy? That was one kind of talent Harold doubted anyone else could match.

"Harold! Come down—there's a package for you!" Garrick suddenly called from downstairs.

Harold put aside the half-unwrapped present and walked out, puzzled.

It was almost noon. The owls should've made all their deliveries by now.

"Where's the owl?" he asked.

"There," Garrick said, pointing out the front window. "Only it's not an owl—it's a dog. I sure hope whoever sent the gift doesn't live far away…"

Dog?

Before Harold could react, Sirius—looking very much at home—used his head to push open the shop door, trotted over to the crate by the counter, curled up, yawned, and settled in.

Garrick stared, dumbfounded.

"I picked him up near the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts," Harold quickly explained. "He sneaked onto the train without me noticing, and by the time I realized it, we were already at King's Cross. I had no choice but to bring him back."

"Well, if that's the case… then it's fine. I mean, of course you can keep him," Garrick stammered, clearly still stunned.

(End of Chapter)