The facts proved that Headmaster Dumbledore truly was a man of his word. He had said he would not appear over the next few days, and he genuinely did not. The whole time, it was only Iain and his little skeleton living together in Dumbledore's old house.
The days were not without their charm.
After sunrise, Godric's Hollow was actually quite lively. There were not only wizards living here, but plenty of Muggles as well, and the little village was full of family-run Muggle shops.
"Ancestors above, today is another day bursting with magical power!"
By now, after several days of living on his own, Iain had become quite accustomed to it all. With a household assistant at hand, he found daily life extremely manageable.
He had no idea how Dumbledore had felt safe leaving a child to fend for himself. Clearly Fawkes, acting as "babysitter," did not possess the two hands necessary to cook for a young wizard.
"But that's all right. Once my alchemy reaches perfection... I'll definitely build you a pair of bird-specific hands!"
As usual, Iain fed Fawkes another grand promise.
"..."
Fawkes did not particularly care to dignify this young wizard, who showed so little respect for natural evolution. Handsome Tabby was lurking nearby, patiently plotting yet another bird-catching campaign.
"Cluck, cluck, cluck~"
Using his invisible Wizard's Hands, Iain finished washing up. He had grown steadily more dependent on the invisible limbs, and there was already a clear tendency for him to want his real hands to evolve in the direction of tyrannosaur claws.
"So breakfast is honey pancakes again today? Magic Skeleton, your tastes really do line up with Professor Dumbledore's. Good thing I've got my invincible little overseas island."
Lately, most of Iain's meals had been sweet things. He was already beginning to miss the sharp stimulation of chili peppers, but his upbringing told him that anyone who did not cook had no right to complain.
Once he had eaten his fill, the young wizard decided to head into the nearby village to buy supplies. Studying alchemy did not necessarily require magical materials, but at the very least it required some materials.
The realm of creating something from nothing was still far too distant for Iain.
The village itself was small. It took less than ten minutes to walk from one end of the main street to the other. On both sides stood squat stone cottages, most of them whitewashed, their roofs buried beneath ivy.
There was a bakery, a post office, a shop that sold hunting rifles and fishing gear, and a hardware store.
That hardware store was his destination.
Ding-dang~
As he pushed open the door, the bell above it gave a cheerful ring.
The sound was not like the bright magical bells in Diagon Alley.
The shopkeeper was a man of about fifty, balding, with a grey side-whisker beard and an apron stained with oil and rust.
His name was Old William, or so Iain had recently learned.
"Well, if it isn't that new boy who moved into the old house and started setting up little stalls selling rat poison. What are you buying today?"
The shopkeeper had been in the corner sorting screws and bolts.
At the sound of the bell he looked up and gave Iain a nod. Since Iain had been active around the village, most of the locals already recognized him on sight.
Mainly because they had all bought his rat poison.
"Mr. William, I'd like to buy these."
Iain pulled a list from his pocket and unfolded it. It was densely packed with tiny writing.
Wire, springs, copper sheets, small hinges, screwdrivers, pliers, solder...
Every item was listed in careful detail, with quantities and sizes marked behind each one. The shopkeeper took the list, read through it once, then read it again, then looked up at Iain.
"You planning to build a cannon?"
There was an amused note in his voice.
"At my age? Why would I be planning to build a cannon? I just want to make a few traps for catching small animals."
Iain shook his head.
He was telling the truth. After all, now that he had Wizard's Hands, grenades were much more useful than cannons. With Wizard's Hands, he could quietly slip a grenade down someone's trousers.
"Mm. Learning to be a hunter, are you? Good idea. My father was a hunter once. Got eaten by a bear when he was still young, though."
The shopkeeper turned and began gathering the items from the shelves.
One by one, he laid wire, springs, and copper pieces on the counter, moving without hurry, occasionally pausing to look back at the list and confirm the correct specifications.
"I envy being eaten by a bear."
It was plain that Iain had never been especially good at comforting people.
He leaned on the counter, his eyes wandering across the shelves, but in truth he was thinking about the household-elf capture plan he had devised for his home.
Fresh ingredients appeared in the kitchen every day, but for all his curiosity, Iain had not managed to catch the pet house-elf delivering them even once.
"Ha! You've got a funny little mouth on you."
Old William naturally had no intention of being angry at a child. As he continued gathering stock, he asked another question in the same easy, conversational tone.
"You still have any of that rat poison left, lad? I don't know what's gotten into them lately, but the rats have become more and more outrageous. They're about to ruin my whole stock of liquor."
Old William had bought Iain's rat poison once before, and he had definitely noticed how effective it was. Which made sense, since it had been a byproduct of the young wizard's experimental potion work.
"Of course I do. I'll bring some over later."
Iain did not ask why the rats had become more outrageous. Everyone already knew he had been experimenting with potions lately.
It was only natural for a beginner to make one or two mistakes now and then. And so the frightened, nameless apprentice potion-maker had naturally invented rat poison to make up for those mistakes.
"Still one pound, right?"
Old William took out a banknote from a metal cashbox and handed it over to Iain. In turn, Iain settled the payment for the hardware he needed before accepting the money.
"Thank you."
Under the vague but unmistakably intent gaze of the shopkeeper, Iain began vigorously stuffing the various metal parts into his trousers. By the end, both trouser legs were bulging and clinking noisily.
"We all need to do our part for the environment. Reduce global warming, right?"
Seeing the odd look on the shopkeeper's face, Iain immediately seized the moral high ground.
"Well... that's true enough."
What else could Old William say? He could only give Iain a thumbs-up, though he privately suspected the boy simply did not want to pay for a plastic bag.
"And where are your mum and dad?"
Old William asked the question casually as he counted out the change into the large metal cashbox.
"They're probably playing ball with Route Sixteen by now..."
Iain's answer was deliberately vague. He did not like mentioning that both his parents were dead.
It always made the young wizard think of the lorry in the rain.
"Well, that doesn't sound too bad."
Old William assumed Route Sixteen was the name of some little dog. He tucked the money away into the large cashbox.
"You lot only moved here recently, so maybe nobody's told you the story of this village. It's had a terrible reputation for hauntings for years and years."
"You'd best be careful if you're ever out at night. I swear, when I was walking home drunk yesterday, I saw a crowd of dancing skeletons in the churchyard."
He leaned forward as he said it, staring straight at Iain, his voice hushed and full of lingering unease.
The warning made the young wizard stiffen immediately.
"I'm a materialist. There's no such thing as ghosts. Don't try to scare me. I'm still just a child."
Iain swallowed and forced out a laugh, talking complete nonsense.
The shopkeeper was still saying something, but by then Iain had already hugged his parcel to his chest and reached the door. The bell rang once, the door shut, and the old man's last half-sentence was trapped inside.
Old William, naturally, had not noticed the young wizard's guilty conscience.
Of course Iain felt guilty.
Although he had promised Dumbledore he would not casually disturb the dead, the previous night he had given the little skeleton sweets made with liquor-filled chocolate.
In every lifetime, Iain had always been slightly too sensitive to alcohol.
"What dancing? That was clearly me asking Lily Potter to help me write a few leave notes. James Potter was the one chasing me around trying to bite my backside..."
The young wizard muttered resentfully all the way home.
After several days of living there, Iain had grown familiar with Godric's Hollow. And in doing so, he had also discovered that the churchyard concealed the famous Potter family.
Those, after all, were part of his underground connections now.