After treating Harry's injuries, Alaric Thorn uprooted the stalk of Dittany he had just decapitated. He wasn't one to let good materials go to waste.
Harry flexed his arm, testing the skin. "Mr. Thorn, I saw the letter you sent me."
"Naturally," Alaric said with a cheerful glint in his eyes. "You wouldn't be here otherwise."
"So..."
"Actually," Alaric interrupted, his tone shifting into something uncharacteristically stern, "you shouldn't accept invitations from strange wizards so easily. It's dangerous."
Harry blinked, taken aback by the sudden gravity in Alaric's voice. He hadn't expected the lecture. However, the boy regained his composure quickly.
"But you aren't a bad person," Harry said firmly. "And you healed me."
Alaric smiled thinly, shaking the dirt from the Dittany root. "Ah, Harry, villains come in many varieties. Some smile, and some will even heal your wounds—provided they have other objectives in mind."
"And you, sir?" Harry asked, pulling his neck back slightly, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes.
Alaric arched an eyebrow. "Your luck is holding," he said easily. "I was merely giving you a fright."
Harry let out a long, shaky breath of relief.
"Now then, small talk is over. Let's get down to business." Alaric handed the bulk of the Dittany plant to Harry.
Catching the plant instinctively, Harry looked at Alaric in confusion.
"Your task," Alaric announced, "is to learn how to refine this single stalk into an Essence of Dittany."
Of course, this wasn't Alaric's primary motive. His true goal was simply to keep Harry within the same physical space as the Tree of Wisdom. He suspected the boy's proximity was the key to advancing the tree's growth.
With a casual flick of his wand, Alaric summoned a table from a cluttered corner of the conservatory. Upon it sat a battered, soot-stained cauldron and an array of supplementary ingredients: crystal-clear spring water, silver-handled knives, and a small vial containing the tail-hair of a unicorn.
"Oh, and before I forget—this."
Alaric handed Harry a slender wooden stick. "It likely won't be a perfect match for you, but we don't have many options at the moment."
Harry took the wand, his fingers tingling. He had seen Alaric perform wonders with a stick just like this. For a moment, he was too excited to speak.
"I wouldn't advise you to start practicing spells just yet, but Potions is a different matter," Alaric explained. "Your magic isn't quite mature enough for heavy casting, but you can certainly learn the chemistry of our world."
Harry nodded vigorously. He didn't care why Alaric was willing to teach him; he was simply desperate to touch anything related to magic. Under Alaric's direction, Harry began his first foray into potion-making with boundless enthusiasm.
As it turned out, brewing potions was significantly less "magical" than casting spells. At least, that was Harry's burgeoning opinion.
By the time he had reached his umpteenth failed attempt at refining the essence, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Sir, I think this might be a bit too difficult for me," he admitted sheepishly.
Alaric remained silent, though he was privately somewhat speechless. The boy clearly didn't have a natural instinct for the cauldron. He had watched Harry stir the mixture in the wrong direction for the third time in a row. The same mistake. Three times.
"Very well, Harry," Alaric sighed, rubbing his temples. "Let's try it once more."
Harry wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced toward the glass ceiling of the greenhouse. "Sir, I really should be getting back. It's starting to get dark."
Alaric pulled an old but exquisitely crafted pocket watch from his robes. "Mmm, so it is. Nearly four o'clock."
Time within the plantation mirrored the outside world perfectly, as the sky above the conservatory was the very same one hanging over Surrey. Alaric tucked the watch away and offered a faint smile. "In that case, we'll call it a day. Come back at the same time tomorrow."
"I'm coming back?" Harry stammered, surprised.
Alaric patted Harry's shoulder. "Potion-making requires persistence. Patience is far more vital than raw power."
Harry frowned, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Wait... isn't this the sort of stuff I'm supposed to learn after I get to Hogwarts?"
"Oh, Harry," Alaric said airily, "this is merely the 'pre-school' curriculum."
"Pre-school?" Harry's eyes widened. "Hogwarts has a pre-school?"
"Of course not." Alaric winked. "But you have me. It's always better to master a few skills early, wouldn't you agree?"
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but eventually closed it, giving a helpless shrug. "Alright. See you tomorrow."
Alaric nodded and waved his wand. A gust of wind swept across the table, causing the messy ingredients to fly back into their respective jars and organize themselves neatly.
While the shop tidied itself, Alaric reached out mentally. Eldra, report on your growth.
Status: Growing (2%)
A surge of satisfaction warmed Alaric. He was right. Throughout the week Harry had been absent, the progress had remained locked at 1%. After a single afternoon of the boy's company, it had ticked up another point.
It was undeniable now: Harry Potter was the catalyst.
As he escorted Harry to the door, Alaric reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, round, green object, handing it to the boy. Harry stared at the leafy, fist-sized thing for a few seconds. "What is it?"
Alaric gave a mysterious smile. "A Chinese Chomping Cabbage."
"A Chomping—?" Harry instinctively jerked his hand back, moving the cabbage away from his face. "That doesn't sound very safe."
Perhaps Harry's movement was too abrupt; the cabbage suddenly twisted in his grip, revealing a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth aimed directly at his thumb.
"Ah!"
Terrified, Harry tossed the cabbage into the air. Alaric gave a lazy flick of his wand, and a shimmer of blue light froze the vegetable in mid-flight.
"It doesn't appreciate being thrown about," Alaric noted with a chuckle. "Don't let the teeth frighten you; it's perfectly safe."
The cabbage writhed in the air, trying to snap at the invisible force holding it, but Alaric's magic was unshakable. He floated the plant back down toward Harry.
"Remember, do not show fear," Alaric murmured. "If you remain calm, it will follow suit. Once it recognizes your scent, it won't attack you."
Harry hesitated, then reached out and carefully took the floating cabbage back into his hands. Miraculously, the plant settled down. It lay obediently in his palms, and while the tiny teeth were still visible, it no longer looked inclined to bite.
"There you go," Alaric smiled. "It's already starting to like you."
In truth, a standard Chomping Cabbage would never be this docile. These were Alaric's own mutated specimens—he had bred out the mindless aggression in favor of loyalty to a designated master. Unlike their wild cousins, they didn't just bite anyone; they bit only those they were told to.