Early the next morning, when Alaric Thorn descended from his second-floor bedroom, he found Harry already waiting anxiously outside the shop.
"Good morning, Harry," Alaric said with a wide yawn as he unbolted the heavy door. He looked at the boy in confusion. "You're exceptionally early today. I believe it's still breakfast time."
He glanced at his watch. Normally, Harry arrived after midday, but today he had appeared before nine. The boy looked frantic, his head swiveling back and forth as he stood on the doorstep.
The moment the door opened, Harry burst out, "Good morning, Mr. Thorn!" His voice was high and clipped. "I tried to leave this morning, but..."
Seeing the boy's distress, Alaric reached out and gave his back a steadying pat.
"Breathe, Harry," Alaric said, stepping aside to let him into the shop. "You can tell me slowly. Unless the world is ending, it can wait a moment."
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. A small, strained smile touched his lips as he began to calm down. He followed Alaric into the shop, though his eyes kept darting back to the window as if expecting an intruder to smash through the glass.
Alaric watched him for a beat, then reached onto a shelf and picked up a large, lumpy potato, turning it over in his hands. "I take it you haven't had breakfast? Today's menu is Mashed Bursting Potatoes. Care for a serving?"
"No, thank you." Harry hurried to the window, peering out at the street. He seemed to be bracing himself for an unwelcome guest.
"So, what has happened?" Alaric found a cutting board from somewhere and placed the Bursting Potato on it, slicing it with careful precision. "Ah, no explosion. It seems luck is on our side today. Trust me, Harry, it's going to be a fortunate day."
Harry remained glued to the window for nearly a full minute. Once he was certain no one was tailing him, he let out a long sigh of relief.
"This morning, I told them I was going to the community activity as usual," Harry began. "But Aunt Petunia... she seemed to sense something was off. She suddenly asked me, 'What kind of community activity lasts for over half a year?'"
He mimicked his aunt's voice, his tone deliberately shrill and sharp.
"And then?" Alaric asked, using a fork to sample a bit of the freshly prepared mash. He gave a small nod of approval.
Harry leaned against the window frame, his knuckles white. "She told Dudley to follow me. She said—" he shifted back into his aunt's voice—"'Go see what Harry is actually doing. See if he's lying to us.'"
Harry looked helpless. "I ran out while Dudley was still changing his clothes. I think he's out there looking for me right now."
Alaric listened, then slowly set his fork down. He looked at Harry with an air of unbothered calm. "Don't worry, Harry. It's simply that the suggestion I placed on your aunt is beginning to wear thin. It's been quite a long time, after all."
"Suggestion?" Harry asked.
He knew Alaric had used magic on his aunt, but the specific mechanics of the spell were a mystery to him.
Alaric nodded patiently. "About six months ago, I used magic to ensure your aunt believed I was a community liaison. Since then, her mind has filled in the blanks, making your visits here seem perfectly logical. But," Alaric waved a hand dismissively, "magic isn't always permanent. Doubt eventually creeps back in."
Harry's relief was short-lived as a new worry took root. "What do I do then? Will she find out I'm a wizard?"
Alaric offered a thin, elegant smile and shook his head. "Don't worry about that, Harry. Even if she discovers the truth, what of it? Once you've mastered magic, none of this will be a problem. Besides, you have me."
Harry paused. It clicked. Alaric was a wizard—a powerful one. If he could place a suggestion once, he could do it again. And again. He looked at Alaric, his green eyes filled with a sudden, desperate hope.
"You'll help me, won't you?"
Alaric let out a soft, surprised laugh, wondering if the boy had briefly lost his wits.
"Of course I will. I am your teacher, Harry," Alaric said firmly. "Do you truly think I would leave you to fend for yourself?"
I am your teacher.
The words hit Harry with an unexpected weight. Suddenly, the knot of anxiety in his chest simply vanished. His shoulders dropped, and the frantic light in his eyes was replaced by a genuine, relaxed smile. It was a sense of security he had never experienced in the Dursley household.
Alaric finished his breakfast and stood, stretching his limbs. "Right then, Harry. The rest period is over. Time to get back to work. Let's see if you can manage a Blood-Replenishing Potion without turning the cauldron into a puddle."
Harry's face fell instantly.
That afternoon, Alaric made a quiet visit to Number 4, Privet Drive. He smoothed over the "misunderstanding" with Harry's aunt, reinforcing the magical suggestions with a bit more permanence, and safely escorted Harry back home for a short break.
When Alaric returned to his shop, he found a silhouette standing by the door, clutching a battered case and looking around with restless energy. The figure spotted Alaric and began waving his arms frantically.
"Little Alaric! Over here!" he bellowed.
Alaric recognized the voice immediately. Only one person in the world addressed him that way: Professor Kettleburn.
Alaric hurried forward, a warm smile breaking through his refined mask. "Your speed is remarkable, Professor. I only sent that owl yesterday morning."
"In truth, I didn't get the bird until last night!" Kettleburn said, clapping Alaric on the back with enough force to rattle his teeth. "But as soon as I read that my new limbs were ready, I came straight away."
Seeing the professor's poorly hidden impatience, Alaric ushered him inside. "Everything is prepared, Professor."
Alaric settled Kettleburn into a sturdy chair and went to retrieve the commission. Under the professor's expectant gaze, Alaric pulled three long, heavy boxes from a reinforced drawer behind the counter. Within them lay the custom prosthetics: an arm, a full leg, and a partial leg.
Alaric opened the first box, revealing the prosthetic arm. To the casual observer, it appeared quite plain—stark and functional with no unnecessary embellishments.
The dark violet ebony retained its natural, metallic grain. The surface was smooth but matte, avoiding any distracting shine. The joints were carved with surgical precision, but there were no intricate engravings or decorative flourishes. Alaric knew his mentor didn't care for vanity; the man required only peak performance and durability.