As the days bled into weeks, Harry's presence at the shop became a near-daily occurrence.
The Tree of Wisdom's growth progress continued its slow, steady climb before finally stabilizing at fifty percent. While Alaric Thorn still didn't fully comprehend why sharing a physical space with Harry Potter acted as a catalyst for the ancient oak, he remained patient. As long as Eldra continued to evolve, the answers would eventually reveal themselves.
Soon, the calendar turned to June 1991.
The biting London chill began to yield to a gentle warmth, and Alaric traded his heavy wool layers for lighter summer robes. On this particular day, he broke his routine and gave Harry a day off from his "pre-school" Potions lessons, as Alaric had business to attend to in Diagon Alley.
Before departing, he ensured the Devil's Snare was integrated beneath his skin, a silent precaution against any unforeseen complications.
Alaric's home featured a functional fireplace connected to the Floo Network, though months of reclusive living had left it choked with soot. When he finally stepped out of the hearth at the Leaky Cauldron, he stumbled slightly, coughing as he swatted at his dusty robes. A cloud of gray ash billowed around him, prompting a nearby witch to wrinkle her nose in distaste and pointedly shuffle several feet away.
Alaric sighed. The next time I use the Floo, I really must have Harry give the chimney a thorough scrubbing.
"Thorn?" a gravelly voice called out from behind the bar.
Alaric looked up to see Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, eyeing him with interest.
"Good afternoon, Tom."
Alaric approached the counter and gave it a familiar tap. Without needing to be asked, Tom slid a glass of chilled mead toward him. As the proprietor of the most famous pub in the wizarding world, Tom possessed a preternatural memory for his regulars, even those like Alaric who hadn't darkened his doorstep for months.
Before Alaric could take a sip, Tom leaned in closer, whispering, "By the way, Professor Kettleburn is waiting for you. Third table on your left."
Following Tom's gaze, Alaric spotted a wizard in the far corner with wild, silvering hair and arms heavily wrapped in thick bandages.
Silvanus Kettleburn was the current Care of Magical Creatures professor at Hogwarts and, arguably, Alaric's closest confidant among the faculty. Their friendship had blossomed years ago due to a shared, slightly obsessive passion for dangerous beasts. Upon Alaric's graduation, the two had even embarked on a hair-raising expedition to a dragon nesting ground in Norway.
As Alaric's eyes settled on the professor, Kettleburn looked up and caught his gaze.
"Oh!"
The old wizard shoved his chair back with a loud scrape and stood up, hobbling toward Alaric with a frantic energy. Despite his missing limbs and assorted scars, he moved with surprising speed. Kettleburn threw his one remaining organic arm around Alaric in a bone-crushing hug that nearly sent the younger man reeling.
"Haha!" Kettleburn barked, clapping Alaric on the back. His voice was booming and full of life. "Long time no see, little Alaric!"
Alaric endured the enthusiastic embrace with a strained smile. "You as well, Professor."
Kettleburn laughed again, ushering Alaric back toward the secluded corner table. "Sit, sit! Have a drink to wet your whistle."
Alaric pulled out a chair and watched the professor, who took a healthy swig of his own drink before leaning forward. "Still tinkering with those bizarre, man-eating weeds of yours, I take it?"
Alaric chuckled softly, idly stirring his mead. "Of course, Professor. You know where my heart lies."
Kettleburn's brow furrowed instantly. "You should be putting that brilliant mind of yours into Magical Creatures! You achieved more in the field right after graduation than most do in a lifetime. If you'd just commit to it, the breakthroughs would be staggering."
"I know, I know, Professor," Alaric said, shaking his head with a weary smile. "But both flora and fauna are equally captivating to me. I assure you, I haven't stopped my research into the animal kingdom."
The achievement Kettleburn referred to was Alaric's breakthrough shortly after leaving Hogwarts: he had developed a revolutionary method for the captive breeding of Thunderbirds. Given the species' legendary sensitivity to danger and innate distrust of humans, captive rearing had long been deemed impossible. Alaric's methodology had solved the puzzle, causing a significant stir in the magizoological community.
Kettleburn nodded, seemingly mollified.
"But surely, Professor, you didn't call me here just to lecture me on my career choices," Alaric noted.
Kettleburn grinned, revealing a slightly haphazard set of teeth. He set his glass down firmly. "Right you are, Alaric. I've come to you because I have a bit of a predicament on my hands—and you happen to be the only person qualified to help."
"And what might that be?" Alaric's curiosity was piqued.
"I'm leaving Hogwarts, lad," Kettleburn announced.
"What?" Alaric blinked in shock, then paused, his expression turning pensive. "Have you finally been sacked, Professor?"
Kettleburn glared at him. "It's a voluntary retirement, thank you very much!"
"Oh," Alaric murmured. He had honestly expected the professor's habit of illegally housing dragon hatchlings to eventually catch up with him.
Kettleburn sighed, tapping his wooden prosthetic leg with a hollow clack. "You know as well as I do... I'm getting on in years. My joints aren't what they used to be, and I seem to be spending more time in the hospital wing than in the forest lately."
Alaric listened in silence. Due to decades of "accidents," Kettleburn was currently operating with only one arm and half a leg. While magical prosthetics allowed him to function, they were no substitute for the real thing.
Kettleburn shook his head, a trace of melancholy in his eyes. "I still love teaching, truly. But I'd rather spend my remaining years actually with the creatures, rather than droning on to a bunch of first-years about the proper way to approach a fire salamander without losing a finger."
"It sounds like a wise decision, Professor," Alaric agreed. He knew the depth of the man's obsession and supported his desire for freedom.
"Exactly!" Kettleburn beamed. "And Headmaster Dumbledore has already approved the request. A new Care of Magical Creatures professor will be stepping in starting next term."
"And who is the lucky candidate?" Alaric asked.
Kettleburn gave a mysterious, knowing grin and pointed a bandaged finger directly at Alaric. "You."
Alaric froze mid-sip.
"Me?"
Seeing the look of utter bewilderment on Alaric's face, Kettleburn roared with laughter.
Before Alaric could voice a protest, the professor continued, "Don't look so horrified. I've already put your name forward to Dumbledore. Whether you actually land the post is up to you, but the door is open."
Alaric rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly. "Professor, are you certain this isn't a joke? I've never considered myself the teaching type."
Kettleburn waved a hand dismissively. "I remember quite clearly you telling me a year ago that if the opportunity ever arose, you wouldn't mind a position at the old castle." He shrugged, spreading his hand. "Well, here is the opportunity."
Alaric looked down at his drink. He did recall saying something to that effect. In truth, he had no real aversion to teaching.
"What did the Headmaster say?" Alaric asked finally.
"Dumbledore said he's willing to give you an interview. However, he noted that if you pass, there will be a probationary period. You're young, Alaric—only twenty-five. He's concerned about whether you can handle the responsibility of the position." Kettleburn rolled his eyes. "Old man's caution, if you ask me."
Alaric nodded. It was a fair condition. If he were in Dumbledore's shoes, he wouldn't blindly hand a classroom over to someone so young either.
"If I were to accept... when exactly are you officially stepping down?"
"A few days ago," Kettleburn shrugged. "I've already collected my final paycheck."
The conversation fell into a pensive silence. A few moments later, Alaric raised his glass and took a slow sip of the honeyed mead.
"...Let me think on it, Professor."