Harry Potter: The Wandmaker

Chapter 233: The Fire Crab

That Friday, the moment Harold stepped out of the dormitory, he saw a huge crowd gathered around the notice board.

"Hogsmeade, next weekend!" Ron craned his neck to read the new announcement. "Brilliant! I was just thinking about getting more Honeydukes sweets!"

Harold took a quick glance, then lost interest almost immediately.

Maybe it was because he'd grown up on Diagon Alley, but he didn't share everyone's excitement about Hogsmeade weekends.

Honestly, compared to Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade's shops were nothing special—fewer in number, less variety, and nowhere near as impressive.

Its only advantage was proximity to the school.

For students buried under homework and exams, taking a stroll through Hogsmeade and grabbing a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks was one of the few pleasures they had.

So naturally, everyone was buzzing with excitement, even during class.

That day's Defense Against the Dark Arts class started late—Professor Lupin arrived ten minutes after the bell, looking rather flustered as he hurried in.

"My apologies, I lost track of the time," he said, but Harold immediately noticed something was off about him.

Lupin's expression was troubled, distracted, nervous. He kept zoning out mid-sentence.

And since the full moon was still a while away, this behavior clearly wasn't due to that.

So—Sirius must have made contact.

Harold figured it out right away and felt a small wave of relief.

Whatever Sirius was doing, at least he'd reached out to Lupin.

Like Harold had said before—Sirius was good at action, not thinking. Strategy should be left to people with actual sense.

He wasn't sure if Lupin counted as a strategist, but he was definitely a better choice than Sirius.

The downside, though, was that this class was completely wasted.

They were supposed to learn to recognize a Banshee's wail, but between Lupin's late arrival and his unfocused mumbling, the lesson went nowhere.

Eventually, he gave up and declared self-study for the rest of the period.

Naturally, the students noticed. Lupin had never acted like this before. Even when he'd had Snape substitute for him, whenever he was in class, he'd been energetic, passionate, and fully engaged.

"What's wrong with Professor Lupin?" Harry asked in concern.

"No idea. Maybe he's caught a cold," Ron said, rubbing his nose as a puff of white smoke came out of his ear.

Winter had just ended, and colds were spreading like wildfire through Hogwarts. Every year around this time, the castle was full of students like Ron—with little streams of white smoke rising from their heads and ears.

That was the side effect of stimulant potions. Silly-looking, but remarkably effective—by lunchtime, Ron felt almost normal again.

"That's how I get when I'm sick—can't focus on anything. Bet it's the same with Lupin," Ron said. "We could ask Madam Pomfrey for a stimulant potion for him."

Hermione, standing nearby, stayed quiet.

She and Ron were still on bad terms over the pet incident, and besides, she couldn't explain Lupin's behavior either.

If it were a full moon, it would make sense. But since it wasn't—she had no explanation at all.

After Defense class, everyone hurried outside for Care of Magical Creatures.

Hagrid had prepared two Fire Crabs—bright red, with shells about the size of a Quaffle and massive claws.

Even more astonishing were the dazzling gemstones embedded all over their backs.

Naturally grown, not man-made—these gems appeared as the Fire Crab reached maturity.

The moment the creatures came out, they stole everyone's attention. Eyes went wide, and a collective gasp ran through the class.

"Harry, look! I've never seen rubies that big—they're bigger than my fist!" Ron exclaimed, staring at the Fire Crab at Hagrid's feet.

"How much do you think that ruby would fetch at Gringotts?"

"No idea," said Harry, "but it's gotta be a fortune."

"At least a hundred Galleons," Ron guessed.

"Eighty-five," Harold corrected calmly. "That's the standard market price for Fire Crab gemstones.

"In fact, the shell itself is worth even more. Fire Crab shells are used to make the finest cauldrons—each sells for two hundred Galleons."

"How much?!" Ron yelped.

He couldn't even imagine a cauldron worth two hundred Galleons. That was daylight robbery!

Even Harry looked stunned. Pure gold cauldrons in Diagon Alley only cost seventy Galleons—two hundred could buy three of those!

Now Ron's eyes were practically glowing as he looked at the Fire Crab.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Hagrid said cheerfully. "Alright, now you can each take turns feeding them. But remember—never use magic on a Fire Crab. That's important."

Everyone quickly lined up. When Ron's turn came, he couldn't resist resting his hand on the shell, trying to pry loose one of the gems.

He wasn't the only one with that idea—but no one succeeded. The gems were fused tight, like part of the rock itself, completely immovable.

Then, in the Slytherin group, an irritated Crabbe lost patience. Ignoring Hagrid's warning, he whipped out his wand and flicked it hard at the creature.

BANG!

The spell hit the shell—and rebounded instantly, twice as fast—smacking Crabbe square in the forehead.

"ARGH!" he screamed, collapsing and clutching his head in pain.

"Hah! Serves you right," Ron snorted.

Everyone had been tempted to grab the gems, but no one had dared use magic—Crabbe was the first… and probably the last.

After seeing what happened to him, any lingering greed vanished immediately.

"You idiot," Hagrid growled, glaring down at Crabbe rolling on the ground. "Did you think their shells were just for decoration? Fire Crabs make sure every greedy fool pays the price."

Still, he had someone take Crabbe to the hospital wing.

Goyle and Malfoy stepped up together, dragging Crabbe away without waiting for permission. Malfoy shot Hagrid a venomous glare.

"A student gets hurt in your class and you don't even care? I'll be telling my father about this!"

Hagrid didn't stop them. Honestly, the class was better off without the three of them.

As for Malfoy's threat—he couldn't have cared less.

He'd warned them plenty of times not to use magic. Crabbe's injury was entirely his own fault.

Meanwhile, Harold was still staring intently at the Fire Crabs.

From the way their shells reflected magic, he could tell they'd make not only superb cauldrons—but excellent wand cores, too.

The thought made him pause, then shake his head.

Too expensive. Not even a reckless spender like Sirius would buy a wand with a two-hundred-Galleon core.

...

(End of Chapter)