Though they were just cookie crumbs.” Thorne waved a hand.
“Forget it, not important.
So… you actually know who I am?” “Of course.” The white weasel gave him a perfectly calibrated smile.
“Professor Thorne, as a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, it’s only natural that I keep myself informed about new professors.
Especially promising young ones like yourself.” He extended a paw with elegant grace.
“Lucius Malfoy.
A pleasure to meet you.” Thorne nodded and shook the fluffy paw.
“Right… got it.” “Eric Thorne.
Nice to meet you too.” Just then, one of the spider tailors waved a leg at Thorne, signaling it was his turn to be measured.
Thorne nodded, then turned back to Lucius.
“Sorry, Mr.
Malfoy.
I’ll have to excuse myself for a moment.” “Next time… I’ll buy you some cookies.” He gave a polite nod and walked away.
Lucius remained standing exactly where he was, posture effortlessly refined.
His eyes flicked briefly to the chair Thorne had just vacated—still dusted with a few specks of coal ash.
He didn’t sit.
He simply waited.
A few minutes later, the small white weasel finished being measured and trotted over to him.
“Draco.
All done?” The smaller weasel nodded, then shot a distinctly disdainful glance at Thorne, who was still being measured, before following his father out of the shop.
Father and son walked side by side down Diagon Alley.
After a while, Draco finally spoke, voice full of confusion.
“Dad, why… were you talking to that Professor Thorne—” Lucius tilted his head slightly, tone calm and instructional.
“You’re wondering why I would bother speaking with someone who doesn’t have a noble family name.
Why I would even consider making a connection.
Is that it?” Draco nodded.
“Under normal circumstances,” Lucius continued, “I wouldn’t extend an olive branch to a young professor so readily.
Their abilities, backgrounds, and attitudes are all too uncertain.” He paused.
“However, I just learned something rather interesting.” “This Professor Thorne only just joined Hogwarts, and Dumbledore has already approved one of his projects and allocated funds for it.
Infrastructure improvements for the castle, apparently.” “If Dumbledore is willing to back him, then his competence, at the very least, is not in question.” “And on top of that…” The corner of Lucius’s mouth lifted.
“I’ve been informed that he said, right in front of Dumbledore, that Slytherin was right.” Draco’s eyes widened slightly.
“Clearly, he shares our values.” “And just now, I confirmed something else—” Lucius’s gaze turned meaningful.
“The way he looked at us was completely different from how he looked at everyone else on the street.” “Much warmer.” “Even before he knew we were Malfoys.” “We are drawn to each other.” Lucius seemed quite satisfied with his own assessment.
“So the question of attitude is already settled.” “For a rising star like him, cultivation is necessary.” He looked down at his son, voice softening but still firm.
“You can use the same method at school to decide who is worth befriending.” The small white weasel listened carefully and gave a small, serious nod.
He had clearly learned something.
— Twenty minutes later.
“Harry, how do I look in this?
Decent?” “Mm.
At least you don’t look like a robber or a beggar anymore.” “Please.
I never looked like that.
Hagrid, back me up here.” “Uh… I think you’re a good person, Eric.” “…Hagrid, you’re killing me.” Thorne, now wearing brand-new robes, followed Hagrid into the Leaky Cauldron with Harry in tow.
They had run into the half-giant right after leaving Madam Malkin’s.
Honestly, after everything that had happened today, Thorne’s brain was starting to go numb.
But the moment he actually stepped inside the Leaky Cauldron, he understood why the place had such a reputation.
It was dark.
It was filthy.
In one corner, a group of old witches huddled together, sipping sherry from tiny glasses in tiny sips.
A short man in a top hat was chatting with the bartender, whose hair was mostly gone and whose face was wrinkled like a shriveled walnut.
The air smelled of alcohol, dust, and several other things Thorne didn’t want to identify.
The one small mercy was that nobody in here seemed the least bit interested in the massive dragon fang he was still carrying over his shoulder.
At least nobody tried to hand him charity money.
The three of them found a table and ordered food.
While they ate, Thorne told Hagrid everything that had happened throughout the day—getting lost, being mistaken for a beggar, accidentally acquiring a dragon fang, and nearly causing Ollivander to have a complete mental breakdown.
He was in full storytelling mode by the time he added, “If you ever need a wand, Hagrid, I could probably whip you up a bone nail instead.
I could even teach you some soul magic.
Might be more useful than a wand, honestly.” Hagrid immediately went tense and waved both massive hands.
“No no no… I’m not allowed to use magic anymore.” But when Thorne and Harry kept pressing, Hagrid just frowned, mumbled, and eventually went quiet.
The topic was dropped.
Time passed.
The sky outside darkened.
Thorne glanced out the window at the sinking night and frowned slightly.
“Oh, right, Harry.” “How are you getting home later?
If you’re taking the train or something, you should probably head out soon, right?” Harry looked at Hagrid with the same concern.
Hagrid just smiled, voice easy.
“Don’t worry.
We’ve got it sorted.” Five minutes later, outside the Leaky Cauldron.
Thorne stared in surprise.
As Harry raised his wand, a triple-decker bus slowly materialized out of thin air, like it was being squeezed into reality from another world.
Golden letters gleamed on the windshield in the night.
The Knight Bus.
“Welcome to the Knight Bus,” a cheerful, automated voice announced.
“Emergency transport for witches or wizards in distress.
Just stick out your wand and hop on, and we’ll take you anywhere you need to go.” The door clanged open.
A tall, lanky young man hopped down with a lazy slouch.
He was clearly tonight’s conductor.
He looked bored at first, but the moment his eyes landed on Harry’s face, his expression changed.
He squinted.
“That scar on your forehead—” He didn’t get to finish.
Hagrid stepped in front of Harry and smoothly pressed a handful of silver Sickles into the conductor’s hand.
“Privet Drive.
Number Four.” Then he turned and started helping Harry load his trunk onto the bus.
The conductor helped too, but his eyes never left Harry.
The intensity of his stare made Harry visibly uncomfortable.
Thorne walked over, crouched down so he was eye-level with the little stag beetle, and pulled a small glass bottle from his pocket.
It was filled with a milky-white liquid.
Harry’s eyes widened slightly.
“This is…?” Thorne smiled and pressed the bottle into his hands.
“I heard it’s your birthday soon.” “I didn’t have time to get anything proper, so… here.” He paused, voice softening.
“If you go back and… get hit again, put this on the bruises.
It’ll help them heal faster.” “… ” Harry was quiet for a moment.
Then he looked up at Thorne.
“Professor… couldn’t you have gotten me something that stops me from getting hit in the first place?” He said it with a small laugh.
“Just kidding.
Thank you.” Harry carefully tucked the bottle away and nodded.