15: Chapter 14 , 2: Dumbledore Is My Mentor, My Friend… Pay Me More!
15: Chapter 14 , 2: Dumbledore Is My Mentor, My Friend… Pay Me More!
Ten minutes later.
Thorne and Harry sat side by side on the bench outside the wand shop, neither of them quite sure what to do with themselves.
Thorne felt a strange sense of déjà vu creep up on him.
He was apparently playing the role of the parent called in for a serious talk, while the tall, busy white termite of a wandmaker in front of them was acting like a teacher hunched over a particularly fascinating piece of homework.
Ollivander kept circling the massive dragon fang.
He tapped it, pressed his ear against it, ran his hands over the surface again and again with the focused, almost reverent look of someone who had found something far more interesting than food.
If anyone who didn’t know better walked by, they’d probably assume the termite had finally discovered a new, exceptionally hard snack.
Worse, he kept muttering under his breath the whole time.
The tone reminded Thorne uncomfortably of Professor McGonagall’s face two days ago when he’d handed her the design sketches for the soul-storage totems.
That same “I have just seen the most wonderful toy” expression.
Thorne tilted his head toward Harry and asked casually, “Son— I mean, Harry.
Did you get your new wand yet?” Harry nodded immediately, smiling as he carefully drew a slender wooden wand from his belt.
“Holly,” he said, voice bright with excitement.
“Phoenix feather core.
Eleven inches.
Mr.
Ollivander says it’s very pliable and has a very… close connection with me.” Thorne raised an eyebrow.
Uh… He honestly couldn’t see what any of those materials had to do with a stag beetle.
Harry clearly treasured it.
He ran his fingers lightly along the wand, then looked up at Ollivander, who was still completely absorbed in the dragon fang.
“Professor, I didn’t expect the shop across the street to be a wand shop too…” He hesitated, genuine admiration in his voice.
“Your wand is really something special.
What kind of structure is it made with?” Thorne rubbed his forehead.
“Uh… Ukrainian Ironbelly dragon fang,” he said.
“About forty-five inches long.
As for the core… I have no idea.” Harry’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Whoa!” He couldn’t help exclaiming, “Then the wand shop across the street is way cooler than this one!” A second later he seemed to remember something and asked seriously, “Can wizards… have two wands?” Thorne rolled his eyes and reached over to knock lightly on the little stag beetle’s head.
“Hey.
Listen to your professor.” “This isn’t a wand.
It has its own proper name.” “This is a wand!” A light but extremely certain voice rang out again.
Thorne looked up.
The white termite Ollivander had somehow appeared right in front of them, struggling to hold up the enormous dragon fang with both claws.
His arms were shaking so badly the whole creature looked ready to topple over.
Thorne stood up at once and quickly took the fang from him.
“Uh… termite— I mean, Mr.
Ollivander.
You could’ve just said something.” Ollivander sagged against the nearest table like he’d just dropped a thousand-pound weight, breathing hard.
“Too… too incredible…” His voice trembled, but his eyes were blazing.
“No core at all.
Just the body itself can produce this kind of effect.” As he spoke, he couldn’t resist reaching out again to stroke the fang’s surface.
“The closest thing I ever managed was an oak wand.
Sixteen inches.
Slightly curved.” He paused, voice dropping.
“It snapped later.” Thorne blinked.
“That one must’ve taken you a long time to make, right?” “Uh…” Thorne thought for a second.
“Not really.
Maybe two or three seconds.” Silence.
Ollivander stared at him for a beat, then burst out laughing.
There was something almost relieved in the sound.
Thorne quietly assessed the old man’s age and wondered whether he should pre-book a bed for him at St.
Mungo’s.
He exchanged a look with Harry, then said seriously, “Sir, I’m telling the truth.
Don’t you think this dragon fang… looks familiar?” “It’s been sitting in the display window right across the street for quite a while.” Ollivander followed his gaze toward the opposite shop.
At first the smile was still on his face.
Then, slowly, it froze.
“Dragon fang…” His voice grew quieter.
“Yes… a dragon fang!” The next second his eyes flew wide open.
“This… this is impossible!” “It was still there yesterday!” Ollivander whipped around and stared at Thorne like he was seeing a ghost.
“How did you do it?” Thorne scratched his head and slung the fang back over his shoulder.
“Uh… I just grabbed it.” “Just grabbed it?” “Yeah.
Just grabbed it.” The light in the termite’s eyes seemed to go out completely.
He stepped back slowly until his back touched the table, looking like someone whose entire worldview had just taken a direct hit.
Harry was shocked that Professor Thorne had apparently made his own “wand,” but he didn’t fully grasp the implications, so his reaction lagged half a beat behind.
He watched Ollivander’s soul leave his body and tugged on Thorne’s pant leg.
“Pr-Professor… what’s wrong with him?” Thorne tilted his head, thought for a moment, and gave a serious explanation.
“I’d say it’s roughly equivalent to… you’re being chased by your cousin, and suddenly you realize he showed up in a truck today instead of on foot.” Harry’s face went white instantly.
“Merlin…” “That really is… completely hopeless.” It took a while before Ollivander finally pulled himself back together.
He took a deep breath, stood up straight, and looked at Thorne with bright, determined eyes.
“Alright.
I understand now.” “Young man… do you have a job?” Thorne blinked.
“I do.” “Is the pay good?” “Uh, it’s actually not bad.
About—” “I’ll double it!” Thorne froze.
“But… I haven’t even said how much it is yet.” “Doesn’t matter.” Ollivander’s tone was absolute.
“Whatever the other side is paying, I’ll double it.” Harry was stunned on the spot.
No way.
Was he really about to lose the second Hogwarts professor he’d just met before the school year even started?
Thorne looked at the white termite in front of him, whose gaze was burning with conviction, and swallowed.
Then his expression turned solemn and serious.
“My boss, Mr.
Dumbledore,” “pulled me out of St.
Mungo’s and saved me from the very real possibility of spending the rest of my life in Azkaban.” “He is my dear friend, my mentor, and my closest companion.” Harry let out a quiet breath of relief.
Whew.
Thank Merlin.
This professor actually had a sense of duty after all.
But the very next second, Thorne added in an extremely firm voice: “Pay me more!” — Half an hour later.
Two figures, one large and one small, walked out of Ollivander’s.
Thorne kept smacking himself on the forehead as they walked.
“Damn it, why the hell did I sign a seven-year contract with Dumbledore?
And the penalty clause is ridiculous!” “This won’t do.
I need to find a chance to renegotiate.
This is seriously messing up my chances of transferring!” Harry walked beside him, giving him a deeply unimpressed look.
Weren’t you the one who just promised to protect the students?!
Thorne sighed and complained for a while longer before finally accepting reality.
“Whatever.
There’ll be plenty of other ways to make money later.
Let’s deal with what’s in front of us first.” He looked down at Harry.
“Is there anything else you still need to buy?” Harry thought seriously for a moment.
“I think that’s everything… We basically bought it all while we were wandering around lost earlier.” He paused, then remembered something.
“Oh, right.
I still have a set of robes waiting at Madam Malkin’s.” Thorne’s eyes lit up immediately.
“That’s perfect.
I need new clothes too.” “Let’s go pick them up together.” They pushed open the door to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.
The moment Thorne stepped inside, he stopped dead.
From the outside it looked like a perfectly normal clothing shop.
The problem was that every single “shop assistant” inside was a spider.
They moved all eight legs at once with terrifying efficiency, pinning black robes onto customers with pins while measuring with tape measures and various tools at lightning speed, the whole process so smooth it looked rehearsed a thousand times.
There were even a few spiderwebs hanging in the corners.
Thorne stared at the silk threads, unsure if he was the only one who could see them.
For a split second he felt an intense wave of déjà vu.
Like he’d just walked back into Deepnest.
Except this version was much more “civilized.” No iron bugs scurrying everywhere.
No giant spiders ready to pounce and kill him at any moment.
Thorne came back to himself and patted Harry on the shoulder.
“Alright, go try on your clothes first.” “I’ll have Madam Malkin measure me later.” Harry nodded and trotted off toward one of the spider tailors.
Not far away, a small white weasel seemed to be trying on clothes as well.
Thorne glanced over, expression perfectly calm.
Well.
After meeting Professor Snape, he’d pretty much accepted that this world occasionally produced random mammals.
His mental tolerance had improved significantly.
Still, the thought crossed his mind anyway.
Was this weasel also a Slytherin student?
While thinking that, he sat down on the bench near the door, pulled out a quill, and prepared to use the free time to finish mapping out Diagon Alley.
Just then— Click.
The shop door closed behind someone.
A figure stopped in front of Thorne.
“Mr.
Thorne.” A warm, confident voice spoke.
“You are every bit as handsome, dashing, and suave as the rumors say.” Thorne looked up, startled.
Standing in front of him was a white weasel dressed in expensive robes.
The creature was holding several books that looked like textbooks.
His fluffy face wore a perfectly calibrated elegant smile.
His posture was impeccable, his demeanor effortlessly refined.
Thorne stared at him for a few seconds.
“…Suave?” He glanced left and right to make sure no one else was around, then stood up.
“You talking to me?” “I believe,” the white weasel said with a small smile, “there shouldn’t be a second Eric Thorne in this shop.” Thorne brushed some coal dust off his robes.
The corner of his mouth twitched as he muttered inwardly.
Yeah.
St.
Mungo’s really should open an ophthalmology department.
The white weasel clearly had no idea what Thorne was thinking.
He continued smoothly, “And you’re even more distinguished than the rumors suggested…” He paused, nostrils flaring slightly.
“Hm.
Did you have cookies for breakfast this morning?”