No one noticed Kathoom’s little maneuver.
After the scuffle in the bookstore, Mr. Weasley offered the Grangers an apology.
He emphasized repeatedly that not all wizards were like Lucius Malfoy—the Weasleys, for instance, were happy to be friends with Muggles.
Mr. Granger smiled and waved it off, remarking that discrimination was just as common in the Muggle world.
The families parted ways outside Flourish and Blotts.
On the way home, Mrs. Granger couldn’t help but voice her thoughts.
“I don’t like that Malfoy family.”
She said, “I just have a feeling that boy, Draco, will bully Hermione at school.”
Mr. Granger agreed. “I’ve seen this before—when I was in school, white kids always picked on Black and Asian students.”
Even if they didn’t use physical force, there were plenty of other ways.
Insults, sarcasm, isolation…
The thought that Hermione might face such treatment left Mr. Granger both worried and saddened.
Bruce quickly reassured them, “Don’t worry; I’ll be there.”
Mrs. Granger immediately added, “Bruce, please don’t do anything against the rules!”
“Don’t worry, Auntie—I know my limits!”
After all, if the school didn’t find out, it wouldn’t really be breaking the rules.
And in the magical world, wizard duels were legal.
If Malfoy dared to pick on Hermione, he’d have Bruce challenging him to a duel in no time!
—
Once Bruce was back in his room, Kathoom immediately flew to the desk and cracked open Lockhart’s autobiography.
To be fair, Lockhart’s writing style was quite entertaining, and the owl was thoroughly enjoying it.
“Kathoom, what did you mean by what you said earlier?”
Bruce asked, voicing the question that had been on his mind. “You said Lockhart would teach me about crafting a public persona?”
“You must have figured it out by now.”
Kathoom replied without looking up, “Lockhart’s a total fraud.”
That much was true.
Bruce nodded, having sensed nothing of strength in Lockhart.
Yet, the exploits he described in his books were hard to argue against.
“Exactly. Lockhart may not be strong, but he’s earned considerable fame and even a Third Class Order of Merlin. The reason? He’s a master at creating a persona.
“In other words, Lockhart may be useless at magic, but he’s a genius at self-marketing.”
Kathoom once again launched into his philosophy about even toilet paper having value.
Lockhart’s value lay in his marketing skills.
Bruce was skeptical. “What good is that kind of skill?”
“What good is it? It’s invaluable!”
The owl let out a squawk. “Let me give you an example!”
With that, he pulled Captain America’s shield from his feathers.
In the process, he almost got trapped inside since the shield was so large.
“Look, this is Captain America’s shield—a valuable item, right?”
Bruce nodded, no argument there.
Even the U.S. President Red Skull had considered it a prized possession, so of course it held extraordinary worth.
Kathoom continued, “Now, let’s say that this shield’s value is one hundred owl coins.”
“What are owl coins?” Bruce asked.
“Never mind that.”
Kathoom refocused on the shield. “We must admit, a big part of this shield’s fame comes from its original owner, Captain America.
“Without that, it’s just a vibranium shield, nothing legendary.
“But here, no one knows who Captain America is, so the shield’s worth is more like ten owl coins.”
Bruce frowned. “That’s quite a drop.”
“I’m being generous.” Kathoom shook his head. “But there’s a way to restore its legendary value.”
“How?”
“Simple. Just make up a story.”
Kathoom thought for a moment. “Perfect timing—Merlin is the most famous wizard here, and he’s linked to King Arthur’s Round Table knights.
“Starting today, this shield isn’t Captain America’s shield anymore; it’s a holy relic of the Round Table knights—actually, the Round Table itself!”
With a tap of his wing, the shield’s star-spangled design vanished, replaced by an image of the Holy Grail, encircled by twelve knights’ swords.
Kathoom beamed. “There! Now it’s a legendary item again!”
But Bruce had doubts. “Isn’t this shield a bit small to be a table?”
“Use your brain, Bruce!”
Kathoom chided. “You’re a wizard; resizing the shield is up to you.”
With his final doubts dispelled, Bruce suddenly saw the light.
He was beginning to understand the power of a well-spun tale.
A fitting story, a compelling image—these could indeed have incredible impact.
“Kathoom, I get it!”
Bruce said, “So when you handed me a stick and called it the Elder Wand, that was the same trick, right?”
“Hey! Watch your words!”
Kathoom corrected him at once, “You can say what you want about the rest, but the Elder Wand is genuine!”
—
The remaining days of summer flew by, and it was soon time to return to Hogwarts.
Bruce packed his bags, bringing along the new Elder Wand that Kathoom had made for him, and set off with Hermione toward Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The new Elder Wand was different from the previous one.
The wand’s handle was now made from the hilt of Mjolnir.
Kathoom was quite proud of it. “Though the Demon King’s blood was powerful enough, I don’t mind upgrading the material—it only makes it stronger.”
Mjolnir’s handle was crafted from the World Tree.
Bruce didn’t fully understand what that meant, but it sounded impressive.
Certainly better than the random sycamore stick he’d been using before.
Soon, they arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and he and Hermione found a compartment to sit in.
“Bruce! Hermione!”
Neville came over, looking a bit anxious.
“Have you seen Harry and Ron? They don’t seem to be on the train.”
Kathoom tilted his head, finding this strange.
Why did Neville always seem to be looking for something at the start of each school year?
“What happened to them?” Hermione asked, worried. She stood up and ran off with Neville to look for them.
Bruce stayed behind because Kathoom assured him there was nothing to worry about.
After Hermione left, an old wizard with a suitcase stopped at the compartment door.
“Is there a seat here?”
He asked, looking at Bruce. “Might an old man trouble you for a bit of room?”
Bruce turned and recognized him as Professor Gael Greene, whom he’d seen at Flourish and Blotts.
“Of course, Professor,” Bruce said, motioning to the empty seat. “Please, join us.”
“Thank you!”
Professor Greene sat down but kept his suitcase beside his feet instead of placing it on the luggage rack.
Every now and then, the suitcase trembled, as if something alive were inside.
Bruce eyed it curiously, and Professor Gael Greene gave him a harmless smile.
“Pay it no mind,” he said. “It’s only some teaching materials.”
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