Chapter 19. I'm Your Teacher
The next morning, when Adrian Wesson came downstairs from the bedroom on the second floor, he found Harry already waiting outside the shop.
"Morning, Harry," Adrian yawned, pulling open the door before looking at him in puzzlement. "What brings you here so early today?"
He glanced at the clock. "I'd say it's still breakfast time."
Ordinarily, Harry arrived after twelve, but today he'd turned up before nine.
Harry looked anxious, lingering at the threshold and peering up and down the street.
When the door opened—
"Good morning, Mr Wesson," Harry blurted, his voice tight, clearly not at ease. "This morning, when I was about to go out…"
Seeing Harry so flustered, Adrian patted him on the back.
"Don't rush, Harry," he said, stepping aside to let him in. "You can tell me slowly—if it isn't urgent."
Harry took a deep breath. A faint smile tugged at his mouth, as if he'd calmed, but only just.
He followed Adrian inside, though his eyes kept flicking to the window, as if something outside refused to let him settle.
Adrian gave him a look, then lifted a potato from the shelf and weighed it in his hand. "You haven't had breakfast yet, have you? Today's menu is exploding mashed potatoes. Fancy a portion?"
"No need." Harry darted straight to the window and peered out, as though expecting an unwelcome visitor to appear.
"So what happened?" Adrian found a chopping board from somewhere, set the exploding potato on it, and sliced it gently. "Ah—no explosion. Seems we're in luck today. Trust me, it's going to be a lucky day."
Harry watched the street for nearly a minute. Seeing no one tailing him, he finally let out a small sigh.
"This morning I said, like usual, that I was going to a community activity," he began at last. "But today my aunt seemed to realise something was off. She suddenly asked, 'What sort of community activity lasts for half a year?'"
He mimicked his aunt's words, pitching his voice into a pointed, exaggerated sharpness.
"And then?" Adrian lifted a forkful of freshly made mash, nodded, and prompted him.
Leaning against the window frame, Harry said nervously, "She wants Dudley to come with me."
Again, he copied his aunt's tone: "Go and see what Harry's really up to—see if he's lying."
"That's it." He looked helpless. "Then I legged it while Dudley was changing. I think he's out looking for me now."
Adrian set the fork down and, utterly unruffled, explained, "Don't worry about it, Harry. It's probably that the suggestion I put on your aunt has started wearing off."
"Suggestion?" Harry echoed.
He knew Adrian had cast some kind of magic on his aunt, but not what kind.
Adrian nodded, patient. "About six months ago, I used magic to make your aunt believe I'm a community worker. So after that, it was only natural for her to think you were joining me for community activities."
"But," Adrian added with a small wave of his hand, "time passes, and she's beginning to doubt who I am."
Harry's shoulders loosened a fraction, then he frowned again, still worried.
"What should I do?" he said. "Will she find out I'm a wizard?"
Adrian smiled and shook his head. "Don't fret, Harry. And even if she does, so what? Once you've learnt magic, none of this will be a problem. Besides, I'm here."
Oh. Harry realised suddenly: Adrian was a wizard—if he could cast a suggestion once, he could cast it a second or a third time.
Harry looked at Adrian, hope bright in his eyes. "You'll help me, right?"
Adrian gave a helpless little laugh. Was the child daft?
"Of course I will. I'm your teacher, Harry," he said. "Do you think I wouldn't help you?"
I'm your teacher!
At Adrian's answer, Harry froze for a heartbeat, and then all his worries seemed to melt away.
The crease smoothed from his brow; the anxiety in his eyes ebbed, replaced by an easy, unguarded smile.
It was a kind of reassurance he had never felt before.
Adrian finished his breakfast, stood, and stretched. "All right, Harry—break's over. Time to get back to learning how to brew Blood-Replenishing Potion."
Harry's face went stiff at once.
…
That afternoon, Adrian went to 4 Privet Drive, helped sort out the trouble with Harry's aunt, and took Harry back—giving him a little holiday.
When he returned to the shop, he saw a figure at the door with a suitcase, glancing about every so often.
The figure spotted him and waved an arm broadly.
"Little Ade, over here!" he bellowed.
At the call, Adrian knew at once who it was.
Only one person ever called him "Little Ade": Professor Kettleburn.
Adrian hurried up, quickening his stride and smiling. "Your speed is astonishing, Professor. I only posted the letter yesterday morning, as I recall."
"In fact, I didn't get it from your owl until last night," Professor Kettleburn said, clapping Adrian on the back. "You wrote that you'd finished my prosthetics—I set off at once."
Seeing how eager he was, Adrian ushered him inside. "They're ready, Professor."
He had Professor Kettleburn sit and wait while he fetched the limbs.
With obvious anticipation, Kettleburn watched as Adrian slid open a heavy drawer behind the counter and took out three long, rectangular boxes, one by one.
Inside lay exactly what the professor needed: an arm, a leg, and half a leg.
Adrian eased open one of the boxes to reveal a forearm-shaped piece.
Kettleburn couldn't wait—he grabbed his new arm and examined it closely.
It was plain to look at, with no excess ornamentation.
The ebony kept its natural grain; the surface was smooth without being over-polished. The joints were carved with great precision, but overall there were no deliberately elaborate patterns or decoration.
Adrian knew his professor disliked anything gaudy. What he wanted was simply limbs that performed superbly.
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