"So... sir, what exactly is a wizard?" Harry asked nervously, looking up at Alaric Thorn.
Alaric snapped out of his reverie and looked down at the boy's bewildered face, offering a small, practiced smile. It was clear that Harry already suspected he was different from those around him.
"My name is Alaric Thorn, and I am a wizard," Alaric said warmly, his tone carrying a touch of refined kindness. "To put it simply, a wizard is someone who can command magic—much like what I did just now."
He gave his wand a small flourish, gesturing toward Harry's dry clothes and neat hair. To illustrate further, Alaric performed a simple incantation.
"Incendio!"
A small, vibrant spark of crimson leapt from the tip of Alaric's wand. As Harry watched the flame dancing mid-air, his heart began to race.
"Can I... can I do that too?" he asked, his face flushing with sudden hope.
"Of course you can, provided you aren't a complete dunderhead," Alaric said with a casual shrug. "Though you'll have to wait until you're eleven. That's when you'll receive your letter from Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?"
"A school of witchcraft and wizardry," Alaric explained. "A place to study magic. I think you'll find it quite to your liking."
Harry stood frozen. He was a wizard! Memories suddenly flooded back—the time he had somehow spoken to a boa constrictor, the way the glass at the zoo had vanished into thin air. Was all of that magic?
Seeing Harry standing there in a daze, Alaric placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. Those who knew Alaric Thorn knew him to be a profoundly gracious and approachable wizard; he was never one to ration his goodwill, especially toward those who showed promise or shared his quiet nature. If this Harry was anything like the boy from the stories, Alaric felt inclined to offer a little guidance.
"Mr. Potter," Alaric said softly, "are you quite alright?"
Harry blinked, coming back to himself, and nodded quickly.
"Well then, let's head outside where we can talk properly. This conservatory isn't the most comfortable place for a chat." Alaric guided Harry toward the exit, and the door swung open automatically.
In a flash, Harry found himself back in the small potted plant shop. To his astonishment, Alaric tapped the free-standing door with his wand. The wood began to fold and shrink upon itself, collapsing smaller and smaller until it transformed into a leather briefcase.
Alaric placed the briefcase on a nearby table. "Sit down, Mr. Potter. I imagine you have many questions."
"You can just call me Harry, Mr. Thorn," Harry said, nodding obediently. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he felt an immediate sense of trust toward this elegant stranger.
"Tea? Or perhaps milk?" Before Harry could answer, Alaric continued, "Let's go with milk. You could stand to grow a few inches."
It was true; even for a ten-year-old, Harry looked painfully small and malnourished. Alaric rapped his knuckles against the briefcase on the table. "My dear, one black tea and a glass of milk, if you please."
A moment later, the latches of the case clicked open. Two thick vines of Devil's Snare snaked out, delicately balancing a glass of milk and a steaming teacup. Harry took the milk with both hands.
"Er... thank you."
The Devil's Snare gave Harry a playful pat on the head before retreating into the case.
"It seems it's taken a liking to you," Alaric remarked smoothly.
Over the next hour, Alaric patiently answered Harry's barrage of questions about the wizarding world. Harry spoke of the "accidents" he'd caused—his hair growing back overnight after a bad haircut, the vanishing glass, and even the time he'd ended up on the roof of the school kitchens while running from Dudley's gang.
"Accidental magic, Harry. A common experience for every young wizard."
"Accidental magic? Did it happen to you too, sir?"
"Ah, let me think... Oh, I remember now. I believe I was ten. My sister used up the last of my favorite green paint, and in a fit of pique, I turned everyone's hair bright green. Well, everyone except my father."
Alaric chuckled at the memory. He neglected to mention that his father had been completely bald at the time.
Hearing this, Harry felt a massive weight lift from his chest. He wasn't a freak; he wasn't alone. Yet, a pang of sadness followed. Alaric's mention of family stirred painful thoughts of his own parents. If they were still alive, perhaps he wouldn't be living under the stairs, being bullied by the Dursleys...
Time slipped away, and the midday sun began to struggle through the clouds.
"Oh no!" Harry scrambled to his feet. He had completely forgotten about Dudley's chocolate. His aunt and uncle would be livid.
Even so, Harry didn't regret a second of it. Compared to the world Alaric had just revealed to him, a scolding from Vernon Dursley felt insignificant.
"I have to go home, Mr. Thorn." Harry looked reluctant to leave.
Alaric nodded and flicked his wand. An umbrella flew from behind the counter into Harry's waiting hand. "Until next time, Harry."
Once the boy had hurried out, Alaric remained still for a moment, deep in thought. Harry Potter. A polite, quiet child—that was his first impression. Beyond that, Alaric hadn't sensed anything particularly "chosen" about him yet.
"Right. Back to work."
Alaric stood, took the briefcase from the table, and tossed it onto the floor. The moment it hit the boards, it expanded back into the ancient door. This was Alaric's own invention—a portable gateway that could be disguised as a simple case when he needed to move undetected.
He stepped through the door and emerged into a vast, sun-drenched meadow. Alaric Thorn's plantation was a sprawling expanse of greenery hidden within a dense, magical woodland. At the center of the meadow stood three massive conservatories, one of which Harry had stumbled into.
Dominating the very heart of the clearing was a magnificent oak tree, towering nearly twenty meters high. Its branches stretched out in every direction like the fingers of a giant. Most striking of all was the faint green luminescence radiating from its bark—a rhythmic, pulsing light that mimicked the steady beat of a heart.
This was the Tree of Wisdom, a masterpiece that Alaric had spent eight years meticulously cultivating.
"Eldra," Alaric called out in his mind, addressing the tree. "Display my current status."
The branches of the Tree of Wisdom swayed gently, its emerald glow flickering in response. A stream of information flowed directly into Alaric's consciousness:
Name: Alaric Thorn
Vocation: Wizard
Status: Slight Fatigue
Ability: Plant Mutation Mastery
Mana Reserves: 98%
This was the true power of the Tree of Wisdom. It could perceive and analyze the vast amounts of information in Alaric's environment, translating it into a structured mental interface. In the beginning, Eldra could only display Alaric's name, but as the tree grew, so did its analytical depth. To a certain extent, the tree functioned as an omniscient observer.
The tree itself was a product of Alaric's unique gift: Plant Mutation Mastery. Any flora that passed through his hands had the potential to undergo various "mutations." Eldra, the Tree of Wisdom, was the crowning achievement of those biological anomalies.