"Well, sort of. But they're just cookie crumbs."
Thorne thought for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind, let's not talk about that. So... you really know me?"
"Of course."
The White Weasel offered a perfectly measured smile.
"Professor Thorne, as a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, it is only natural that I acquaint myself with new Professors."
"Especially promising young Professors like yourself."
He spoke, elegantly extending his hand.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Lucius Malfoy."
Thorne gave a slight nod, reaching out to shake the furry hand.
"Oh... I see."
"Eric Thorne. A pleasure to meet you."
Just then, the large spider responsible for tailoring nearby waved a pedipalp at Thorne, signaling him to come for his measurements.
Thorne nodded, then looked back at Lucius.
"My apologies, Mr. Malfoy. I must excuse myself for a moment."
"Next time... I'll treat you to some cookies."
He finished, gave a polite nod, and turned to leave.
Lucius maintained his composed, elegant posture, his gaze sweeping over the chair Thorne had just vacated—a few smudges of soot still lingered on it.
He did not sit down, merely stood there waiting.
Until the Little White Weasel having his measurements taken finished and walked over to him.
"Draco, are you done?"
The Little White Weasel nodded, then cast a rather disdainful glance at Thorne, who was still being measured, before following his father out of the shop.
Father and son walked side-by-side along the streets of Diagon Alley.
After a while, Draco finally couldn't hold back, his voice tinged with obvious confusion:
"Father, why... did you talk to that Professor Thorne—"
Lucius tilted his head slightly, his tone even and measured, like a lecturer.
"You wish to ask why I would converse with, even seek to acquaint myself with, someone bearing a non-noble surname, is that it?"
Draco nodded.
"In principle," Lucius continued, "under normal circumstances, I would not readily extend an olive branch to a young Professor."
"Their competence, background, and even attitude often harbor uncertainty."
He paused briefly here.
"However, just moments ago, I learned something."
"This Professor Thorne has just begun his tenure at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore has already approved a project of his, allocating funds for Hogwarts infrastructure improvements."
"To earn Dumbledore's favor, his competence is, at the very least, not in question."
"And on the other hand..."
A faint smile touched the corner of Lucius's mouth.
"From what I understand, he once stated in Dumbledore's presence that Slytherin was right."
"You should understand what that signifies."
Draco's eyes widened slightly.
"He evidently shares our values."
"Moreover, just now, I confirmed something—"
Lucius's gaze grew meaningful.
"The way he looked at us, father and son, was entirely different from how he regarded other passersby."
"Far more... enthusiastic."
"And this was before he even knew we were members of the House of Malfoy."
"We are mutually drawn."
Lucius seemed quite satisfied with this assessment.
"Thus, the matter of attitude is already quite clear."
"For such a rising star, cultivation is essential."
He looked down at his son, his tone softening yet remaining firm.
"At school, you may use the same method to discern who is worthy of becoming a friend."
The Little White Weasel listened intently to his father's instruction, giving a slight nod.
He had clearly learned something.
—
Twenty minutes later.
"Harry, Professor, how do I look in this?"
"Well, at least you don't look like a robber or a beggar anymore."
"More than that, I look downright—what nonsense, I never looked like one to begin with! Hagrid, what do you think?"
"Er, I think you're a good man, Eric."
"...Hagrid, that's enough."
Thorne, clad in his new robes, followed Hagrid—whom they had run into right after leaving Madam Malkin's—and Harry into the Leaky Cauldron.
Honestly, Thorne's trip to Diagon Alley today had already left him somewhat mentally numb. But when he truly stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, he realized what 'living up to its reputation' meant.
It was dark and dirty.
In a corner, several old women huddled together, sipping sherry from tiny glasses.
A little man in a top hat was chatting with the barman, whose hair was nearly gone and whose face was as wrinkled as a shriveled walnut.
The air was a mix of alcohol, dust, and an indescribably odd smell.
The only fortunate thing was that the people here seemed utterly uninterested in the enormous dragon tooth Thorne was carrying on his shoulder.
At least, no one tried to shove money at him anymore.
The trio found a table and sat down to eat.
As he ate, Thorne recounted all his day's adventures to Hagrid.
From getting lost and being mistaken for a beggar, to stumbling upon the dragon tooth, to nearly sending Ollivander into a mental breakdown on the spot.
Carried away by his storytelling, he even mentioned offhandedly:
"I tell you, Hagrid, if you didn't have a wand, I could probably fashion you a bone nail."
"Then I could teach you some Soul Magic—might even work better than a wand."
Hagrid immediately grew tense, waving his hands frantically.
"No, no, no... I'm not allowed to use magic anymore."
But when Thorne and Harry pressed further, he just screwed up his face, hemmed and hawed, and eventually fell silent altogether.
The awkward moment was thus glossed over.
Time passed bit by bit, and the sky darkened quickly.
Thorne looked out the window at the deepening night, his brow slightly furrowed.
"By the way, Harry."
"How are you getting back later? If you're taking a car, it's getting late. Shouldn't you be heading off soon?"
Harry also looked at Hagrid with concern.
Hagrid merely smiled, his tone relaxed:
"Don't worry, there's a way."
Five minutes later.
In front of the Leaky Cauldron.
Thorne stared in amazement at the scene before him.
As Harry raised his wand, a triple-decker bus slowly materialized from the thin air, as if squeezing its way into reality from another world.
Golden letters shone on the windshield against the night sky.
Knight Bus.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus,"
a cheerful, formulaic voice announced.
"Emergency transport for the stranded Witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand and step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go."
The door clattered open.
A lanky young man slouched off the bus, clearly tonight's conductor.
He had looked rather nonchalant, but when his gaze fell on Harry's face, his expression changed. He narrowed his eyes.
"Is that on your forehead—"
Before he could finish, Hagrid had already stepped in front of Harry, smoothly pressing a handful of silver Sickles into the man's hand.
"Privet Drive, the Dursleys'."
He said, then turned to help Harry load his luggage onto the bus.
The conductor lent a hand too, but his eyes never left Harry, a gaze that made Harry feel uneasy.
Just then, Thorne walked over and crouched down to meet Harry's eyes.
He pulled a small glass vial from his pocket, containing a milky-white liquid.
Harry's eyes widened slightly.
"This is...?"
Thorne smiled, handing him the vial.
"I heard your birthday was recently."
"Didn't have time to prepare anything proper, so here's this."
He paused, his tone softening:
"If you go back... and get hit again, apply this to the wounds. It'll help them heal."
"..."
Harry was silent for a moment, then couldn't help but look up at him.
"Professor, couldn't you have given me a gift that... prevents me from getting hit?"
He said this, but laughed at himself first.
"Just kidding. Thank you."
Harry carefully stowed the vial of potion and nodded. "This has definitely been the best birth... week of my life."