Garlic, onions, rosemary, and butter were arranged with care before the lamb chops were wrapped tightly in tin foil.
Ding—!
"Albert, someone is looking for you on Privet Drive," Lucifer reminded him.
Albert nodded, placed the lamb chops on the mantelpiece, and instructed Lucifer to keep an eye on the heat. Then he walked toward the front door.
Before leaving, he glanced outside. Harry was working in the yard. Albert couldn't tell what the boy was thinking, but there was a faint smile on his face—clear evidence that he was slacking off.
Bang!
Harry stared blankly at the door that had suddenly been shut in his face.
"Huh?"
Albert didn't care. He twisted the doorknob, switched the exit to Privet Drive, and opened the door.
Standing outside was a thin woman with sharp features. She was holding the hand of the fat little boy from earlier. The boy's face was scratched, flushed red, and streaked with dried tears. It was obvious he had cried a great deal.
Petunia's eyes landed on the man who opened the door. For a brief moment, she was distracted by his appearance. Then his emotionless gaze met hers, and every carefully prepared sentence vanished from her mind.
"Hello. Can I help you?" Albert asked calmly.
Petunia took a deep breath and forced herself to speak quickly. "I noticed you brought a child into your house earlier. That's my nephew. I'm here to take him back."
Earlier that afternoon, Dudley had been chased home by cats and dogs for no clear reason. Petunia had immediately sensed that the incident might be connected to that thing—the thing she refused to name, the thing her family hated with a passion.
Magic.
As far as she knew, only one person related to her possessed it.
Burning with anger, she had marched straight over, determined to drag Harry back and punish him severely. Just thinking about how that boy had ruined Dudley's precious face filled her with rage.
"Oh, so you're Harry's guardian. Nice to meet you," Albert said politely, though he made no move to shake hands or invite them inside.
He continued, "Actually, I was planning to visit you myself. Unfortunately, your nephew destroyed a plant I had carefully cultivated. We should discuss compensation first."
"W-what?"
"The flower I planted outside. All the neighbors must have seen it. It was extremely precious—a rare species from the country of Tasker in Africa, and their national flower. It cost me at least tens of thousands of pounds to transplant it here."
Albert looked down at her, his voice carrying an undeniable pressure. "I'd like to speak with you or your husband regarding compensation."
"Tasker… national flower?" Petunia repeated, disbelief flashing across her face.
"Yes. Exporting it is strictly prohibited in its native region. This may very well be the only specimen left in Britain. Once it's gone, there will never be another."
He paused briefly. "The preliminary damage assessment is around ten thousand pounds. If you don't believe me, we can pursue legal channels."
"What? That's impossible!" Petunia shrieked. "You expect us to pay tens of thousands of pounds for that boy's mistake?"
She glared at Albert. "We refuse. He just lives with us—we're not his parents!"
Albert frowned, clearly displeased by her hysteria.
After a moment, he sighed. "Very well, madam. Let's try another form of compensation."
Petunia stiffened, watching him closely, clearly prepared to scream again if she disliked what came next.
"I've just moved here," Albert said. "I could use a handyman. How about labor instead of money?"
Through Albert's broad shoulders, Petunia caught a glimpse of the house's cluttered interior.
"That… of course," she said after a moment's thought, nodding decisively. "He's very good at housework—far above average."
"At least for a year," Albert added calmly.
Petunia hesitated, then nodded again. "Of course."
In 1990s London, a handyman's wages would never come close to a thousand pounds a month. This deal was a bargain.
"I believe a child should take responsibility for his own mistakes," Petunia said, her tone suddenly righteous. "It will be a valuable lesson for him."
"Agreed," Albert replied.
Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at Dudley. "But I should add—children don't destroy other people's property for no reason. If this had been an adult, I would have shot him on the spot."
In 1990s Britain, firearms were not entirely forbidden, and homeowners held strong territorial rights.
Dudley felt as if he were being stared down by a wild beast. His earlier smugness vanished instantly. He lowered his head, trembling slightly, barely managing not to cry.
"That's all," Albert said, closing the door. "Your nephew can return on his own tonight."
Outside, Petunia hugged Dudley, mistaking his fear for sadness. "Don't be upset, darling. Harry will pay for his own mistake. He'll be a handyman for a whole year."
Albert no longer cared about the Dursleys. His only concern was whether Lucifer had overcooked the lamb chops.
"Tsk. From that 'good handyman' remark alone, I can tell what kind of life that boy lives," Lucifer muttered, flipping the meat as juices sizzled and dripped into the fire.
"You can tell just by looking at Harry's clothes," Albert replied.
He opened the door to the wilderness again. Harry stood outside, visibly relieved.
"I've already replanted the Moon Spirit Flower," Harry said quickly.
Albert checked it, nodded, and let him in. "Get two sets of cutlery."
Harry obeyed.
Albert sat on his red leather sofa. "Your aunt came earlier."
Harry froze. "What… did she say?"
Albert explained the fabricated compensation story, clearly amused.
"So…?" Harry whispered.
"She refused. So I changed the terms."
Harry's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"You'll work here for a year."
Albert served dinner—lamb chops, eggs, sausages, and salad.
Harry stared in disbelief. "This is… for me?"
"Eat," Albert said simply.
The boy devoured the food with shining eyes. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten."
"It's made from monster meat," Albert replied casually.
Harry paused. "Monster?"
"Don't ask."
Later, Albert asked, "Do you hate them?"
"I just want to leave," Harry answered immediately.
Albert nodded.
Harry spoke softly of resentment, gratitude, and confusion, tears threatening to fall. Albert said nothing, respecting the boy's stubborn pride.
When Harry finally recovered, Albert stood. "Clean the living room."
Harry nodded eagerly.
"If you finish early," Albert added, "I might let you try magic."
Harry worked faster.
When he went to discard leftovers, a flaming face erupted from the fireplace.
"Wasteful?! I eat leftovers!" Lucifer roared.
Harry fell back in terror.
"Oh, right," Albert said mildly. "This is Lucifer. A demon. He guards the castle."
Harry waved nervously.
This place is amazing, he thought.
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